Thanks For Sharing
by nolotica
Summary: [collab with scarylolita] After a drunken slip up that the school can't seem to let go, Craig and Clyde are struggling to keep their friendship afloat. A typical weekend turned sour by alcohol and an accidental kiss.
1. Chapter 1

**South Park ©** **Matt & Trey.**

It's loud. Of course it's fucking loud, I'm at a party. I don't usually go to parties, but Clyde wanted me to come… So, here I am. He always gives me this stupid puppy dog look when I say no and I end up giving in.

I stole liquor from my parents before coming. I had to get drunk beforehand. I always pre-drink for these kinds of events. I get too nervous. I'm not social. I'm not good being around people and alcohol just makes it easier. I can smile at the right times. I can laugh. I can make a joke. I'm easier to be around. Suddenly I'm not Craig Tucker, I'm someone new. Someone people don't mind being around.

I light a cigarette as Clyde mixes himself another drink in the kitchen. "Dude you smoke too much," he says to me.

I just grunt some noncommittal response and shrug my shoulder. He always calls me out on this shit, but I never really listen.

"Just don't blow it my way," he murmurs.

I roll my eyes and draw the smoke into my lungs. It's not like I'm the only kid on our grade who smokes. I mean, I have to buy them from someone.

Even in a piece of shit town like South Park they won't sell to 17-year olds over the counter, but Kenny is a reliable source. He works at the convenience store caddy-corner next to our school and I don't know how the hell he gets his hands on the things he does but he always delivers. Letting him bum a cigarette off me at parties when he wants to light up but doesn't want to dip into his merchandise is how I get my discounted prices.

I'm pissed that I'm celebrating the end of my school week at Kyle's parents' house with a bunch crazed, drunk teenagers, but I spend most of my Fridays with Clyde anyway and my other option was sitting at home alone receiving his drunk text messages. Anything is better than trying to decipher misspelled words that more often than not end up being about how much he danced with Bebe.

It's always about Bebe. They have a long history. They dated. I even know they fucked. They broke up, though. I don't know why they still dance around each other the way they do. I don't know what it means. Clyde says it's just fun, but part of me thinks they'll just end up back together. I don't really like thinking about it. If I were a good friend, maybe I'd want to try being happy for Clyde… but I can't be happy for him. It's too damn hard.

"What is it?" Clyde asks, eying me as he takes a sip on his rum and coke.

"Nothing," I say, unceremoniously ashing my cigarette on the linoleum tiles.

Clyde shakes his head at me. "Shouldn't do that, man. You're adding to the mess."

"Doesn't matter," I murmur. "He'll have to clean the house before his parents return either way."

"Try to have fun, Craig," he says.

"Maybe I am," I retort, but I feel like I need another drink.

He snorts. "You're not, dude. I can tell. I know you well enough by now."

I just shrug again, inhaling and holding the smoke in before letting it out. I turn my head up and away so the smoke doesn't catch Clyde.

"Do you?" I challenge.

"Yeah," he says.

When I finish my cigarette, I put it in the sink and take the flask out of my pocket. I twist off the top and take a cringe-worthy sip. I can feel Clyde watching me with that concerned friend look. I fucking hate that look. Besides, if I'm going to be at this party for his sake I might as well get as fucked up as the rest of the people here. I'm a little fuzzy, but I could be so much drunker.

"Let's go sit in the living room," Clyde offers, picking up his drink and placing a hand on my shoulder.

I shiver, shrugging him off and taking another drink.

I follow him begrudgingly into the heart of the party, and throw my weight down onto the couch; take another drink.

The couple making out on the staircase still isn't blurry enough because I can tell that the long black hair belongs to Wendy; take another drink.

For some reason I can't block out Butters awkwardly trying to chat up some girl who is way out of his league; take another drink.

"Slow down." Clyde says suddenly, forcibly taking the flask from my hands.

I grit my teeth, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I can feel the aftertaste the liquor left behind. It's strong and unpleasant, yet I'm craving more. I want the numbness to set it. I know I've had enough to be the person I want to be, but I don't want to be that tonight. I just want to stop thinking.

I hold out my hand. "Give it back," I demand in a flat tone.

Clyde frowns, eyebrows drawing together. He shakes his head.

"Damn it, Clyde!" I snap at him.

Then it's quiet. We sit together and I want to reach forward and fucking grab the flask out of his hand, but he's bigger than I am and stronger. He has the upper hand. He'd just take it back from me.

"You don't need anymore, Craig," he says to me.

"You don't know my limit!" I growl. "I do!"

"No, you don't," he states.

"Whatever, fuck you." I spit out, sinking miserably into the couch.

If he's going to drag me to these shit get-togethers the least he can do is let me numb myself out of it.

I sit silently for a minute, staring through double vision at Wendy and whomever on the staircase, before I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder.

"Look man, I know you hate this kind of scene but I just want to get you out of your funk every once and a while, shit's been so tough with school lately I figured we deserved to cut loose. Not that loose though. I mean, don't make yourself puke or anything, you know? I just care about you, okay? I don't want you getting sick all over, not because I'm worried about the mess or anything, but you're special to me, you know?"

If it were anyone else saying that to me, I'd have something other than the alcohol to worry about making me sick, but Clyde is just so fucking genuine when he talks like that it's hard to not feel a little giddy.

Clyde's been like a sap like this since grade school:

" _Aw man, I just love you, you know?_ _"_

" _Don_ _'_ _t be mad, you know I just care._ _"_

" _You know, I only say anything because you_ _'_ _re important to me._ _"_

" _You know, you know, you know._ _"_

This is how it goes. Every time I'm upset, every time I'm acting out, every time I'm being a worthless piece of shit… He's full of forgiveness. He's right when he insists that he gets me. He does get me. Sometimes I think he knows me better than I know myself.

I stare at him critically. He stares back, looking like he's waiting for some kind of response. Usually I just brush him off, but I can't. Not this time.

I don't know what the fuck comes over me, but before I know it I'm leaning forward and I have my lips locked against Clyde's.

Then it feels like the entire room is put on pause. A split second later he draws away and I feel two hands on my shoulders giving me one rough shove backwards. I lean against a sofa pillow, unable to meet Clyde's gaze.

"What the fuck?" he chokes out.

Damn it.

I sit up and stare down at me hands. I'm shaking. I don't know if it's because I'm anxious or if it's because I'm too drunk to function properly.

Before Clyde can say anything else, I get up and leave the room. I don't know who else saw it happen. I don't want to know. I just hope he doesn't follow me.

Fuck… FUCK.

I fucked up.

Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell is wrong with me?

I make my way onto the front porch to get some air and also because I know no one else will be outside in this god awful weather, but now I'm regretting it because I can't get my fucking cigarette to burn.

I click my lighter several times with shaky hands, trying to protect the flame from the wind long enough to get my cigarette going, but I can't fucking manage it.

If I'm being honest with myself, I like Clyde. I've understood that for a while now but he didn't know and I sure as hell wasn't planning on telling him anytime soon. Or ever.

I don't know what the hell came over me—that I thought kissing him would be a good idea. Fuck. My head is swimming. He says we go to these parties to get me out of my house but I know he's really coming to see Bebe. Of course.

That's it. It's over. I just threw away a 10-year friendship for a drunken kiss.

I can't breathe.

"Fuck!" I shout angrily, chucking my worthless, piece of shit lighter onto the ground and watching it bounce down the steps into the snow.

It only takes me a second to realize that getting another one will only mean paying Kenny some jacked up price, and I want to scream with frustration as I stomp down the stairs and stick my hand into the snow.

"Craig?" someone calls from the door.

I don't respond. I still haven't found my lighter and I'm sure as hell not ready to talk through this.

"I know you're out here."

I let out an impatient sigh. "What?" I snap.

It's Bebe. She's one of the last people I want to see right now.

"Hey," she says softly. "I, uh…"

"You, _uh_ , what?" I bite out, mocking her hesitance.

A second later I find my lighter. I try to light my cigarette but my hands are too frozen and stiff from the snow. With a quiet sigh, Bebe approaches me. She takes the lighter from my hands and lights my cigarette for me. I inhale deeply, closing my eyes and silently wishing for her to disappear.

"I'm sorry," she says, slipping my lighter back into my coat pocket.

"Why?" I ask her. I open my eyes, exhaling in her face.

She doesn't react. "You know why," she whispers. "I… I didn't know you felt like that for him."

"God…!" I exclaim, laughing bitterly. "Just shut up, Bebe."

"No," she responds.

"Who else saw?" I mumble the question.

She shrugs her shoulders, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't know… a lot of people, I guess. They're talking. They'll probably keep talking."

"Great," I grit out, wanting to die.

After a moment of silence she murmurs, "Hey, it's okay. The people who are here are all our friends; it's not a big deal."

"No, Bebe. Jesus Christ do you really not fucking get it? They're _your_ friends. Stan and Kyle and literally everyone else. They are _your_ friends, because you're just some nice, pretty girl," I hiss.

Bebe looks hurt by my deduction, but stays put, much to my dismay.

"If you kissed Clyde," I continue, "People would talk for one day and then you would date and people would be happy for you. I am not just some nice, pretty girl, and Clyde and I will not date, and even if we did no one would be happy for us, because that's exactly the kind of town this is, some sort of secluded, redneck piece of shit on the map that no one ever gets out of and that people like me get trapped in and stay unhappy forever just because they kissed their best friend on some sort of drunken fluke at some stupid, fucking high school party that they didn't even want to go to in the first place."

"I would be happy for you," she says defiantly, and I roll my eyes, pulling off my cigarette.

"No, you wouldn't," I promise her. "Clyde fucking loves you and you fucking know it."

I stomp off after that. Fortunately, she doesn't bother following. I drag myself down the street and my eyes begin to sting. I really don't want to fucking cry about this shit.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. There's nothing I _can_ do.

I make my way home and when I get inside my parents welcome me back offhandedly. They're watching some sports game on the television, so they look distracted. If they weren't, they'd probably ask me what was wrong and I'd start bitching at them when they didn't believe I was fine. That's how it always goes with me.

I make my way upstairs. I don't see Ruby in her room, thank fuck. She's probably out wreaking havoc with Karen McCormick.

I move into the bathroom and peel off my clothes until I'm naked, then I stare at myself in the mirror. In the grand scheme of things, I don't mind the way I look. I have black hair that I need to keep brushed because it's so god damn thick. So are my eyebrows. I have blue eyes with massive dark circles. Pasty, pale skin. I'm shorter than a lot of the guys in my grade. I'm incapable of growing facial hair. I guess that's all fine, though. I don't look anything like my parents because I was adopted from who knows where. The thing I hate is my braces. God, Eric Cartman gave me hell for weeks when I showed up at school a metal-mouth. Luckily he's moved on since then and found new victims to torment. When he hears about my unfortunate indiscretion, he'll probably bounce back to me. He loves this shit. He feeds off of it.

I continue staring at myself, forcing a smile in the mirror and examining my teeth. They need a lot of work. Sucks to be me. I brush them and then wash my face before turning away. I walk across the hall, putting pyjama pants on and crawling into bed after killing the lights.

I lie still and silent. It's early, but I don't want to be awake.


	2. Chapter 2

The clock reads 3:16 when I hear Ruby coming up the stairs. She's trying to be quiet; my parents went to bed a couple hours ago. As for me, I can't sleep. I gave up around 2 and decided to try and get ahead in my English readings. Some Russian asshole that I'm sure would be disappointed if he knew his main audience was a bunch of jaded high school students who more often than not don't even finish reading it.

My door is closed, but Ruby must be able to see the light from under it, because I hear her footsteps stop outside.

"Craig?" she asks, followed by a sharp rap on the door. "Why are you awake?" She turns the knob and peeks inside at me.

"Why are you home so late?" I retort. She looks tired. I hate thinking that this god awful town has gotten to my 14-year old sister, but I know it has. Her and Ike and Kenny's little sister—it gets to everyone.

"I was out with Karen," Ruby snaps back. "What's up your butt?"

"Nothing." I'm still a little drunk and I don't feel like having this conversation. I'll never fucking feel like having this conversation.

"So why the fuck are you awake?" she clicks her tongue, "I thought you were going to a party tonight anyway, what happened to that?"

"Plans fell through."

"Oh is that what you call it? You antisocial ass."

I grit my teeth. "Look," I start tersely, "I'm not in the mood to argue right now, Ruby."

"Why?" she pries, inviting herself in and sitting near the bottom of my bed.

She smells like weed. I kind of hate the thought of her getting high, but I know I can't do anything about it.

"You smell," I tell her nonetheless.

She just shrugs. "Don't avoid the question."

"I don't owe you shit," I remind her.

"Wouldn't it feel good to talk, though?"

I snort at that. "No."

"Have a fight with your boyfriend?" she teases.

I hate it when she jokes like that. She's referring to Clyde. She says we spend so much time together we may as well get married. Ha. That won't ever happen.

"Funny," I say flatly.

She smirks. "So, I'm right," she states knowingly.

I hate how well she can read me.

"Go away," I hiss at her, growing impatient. "I told you I'm not in the fucking mood!"

Still smirking and looking incredibly humoured, she stands up. She holds her hands up innocently and says, "You gotta learn how to chill out a bit or you'll never find a man."

Before I can answer she's out the door.

God, I fucking hate when she pulls shit like this.

.

.

The next morning, I sleep in late.

I'm finally rattled awake by the sound of my phone vibrating at a quarter to noon. I consider blowing it off, but ignoring my better judgement I roll over and grab the cell off of my bedside table.

1:18 AM Bebe Stevens: Hey, I just wanted to check in and make sure you made it home alright. I'm going to try calling you too.  
4:55 AM Clyde Donovan: Dude, I want to talk about this, where are you?  
5:02 AM Clyde Donovan: Did you go home?  
5:05 AM Clyde Donovan: Fuck… dude I want to know what's going on with you  
5:07 AM Clyde Donovan: But I guess it's best you went home  
5:07 AM Clyde Donovan: Shit  
5:07 AM Clyde Donovan: Not because of, y'know, but because you were probably too drunk  
5:07 AM Clyde Donovan: Fuck, sorry  
5:15 AM Clyde Donovan: Were you just really drunk?  
5:36 AM Clyde Donovan: Dude just please fucking call me.  
9:25 AM Eric Cartman: So how's the sharp sting of rejection feel Tucker? See you at school on Monday ;}

Of course Cartman's already on my case, big surprise. I don't fucking know how he found out so fast though, I don't even remember seeing him at that party.

God, he was probably lurking in the corner waiting for something nasty to happen. He's such a sick fuck. He gets off on this shit. He's always waiting for someone to mess up so he can torment then forever. I fucking hate him. Someone needs to beat his stupid ass, but unfortunately he's fucking huge.

I bet Clyde could do it…

Fuck.

Clyde.

I really don't want to think about him right now. I set my phone aside and rub my palms up and down my face.

Of course he wants to fucking talk about it. He always wants to talk about everything.

I'll just pretend it was because I drank too much. Then everything can go back to normal… maybe.

Ha, no. Probably not.

Clyde reads me just as well as Ruby does. I used to think I was a closed book, but I'm so fucking open. Honestly, this is the only secret I've managed to keep and I've managed to let it slip by slipping up. I hope everyone just forgets about it, but I know that isn't very likely.

Fuck.

I bury my head in my hands. I just can never catch a fucking break. It's unbelievable. People just can't let shit go.

I pull up Clyde's name and quickly tap, " _Shit, I was so fucked up last night. Don't read into it, I only barely remember what happened and I was just fucking out of it."_

Almost immediately after I hit send, my phone's screen lights up. Clyde was probably hovering, waiting for me to get a hold of him and relieve his concerns by telling him what a gross, drunken-mistake I made. Fucking fantastic.

11:58 AM Clyde Donovan: Oh, haha :)

Cheeky asshole, he'll probably never stop bothering me about which hot chick in our grade I mixed him up with. Whatever. As long as he lets it go. If Clyde lets it go, eventually everyone else will too. I'll lie about who I have the hots for and he'll try to set us up and either way people will leave me alone. I can finish the rest of this hellish high school career in one piece.

I don't bother responding to him after that, but he'll probably end up making his way to my house at some point in the day.

Whatever.

My damn head hurts.

I'd love to be more carefree. I know other people would love it, too, but I literally can't be. I don't know why I'm such a little bitch when it comes to stress, but I am. I worry about everything, even things I shouldn't be worrying about. Then it all builds up until I feel like I'm about to puke or implode.

Bebe used to tell me I was socially challenged. I didn't really pay any attention to it, but maybe she was right. I could be an asshole and blame my parents for not taking me out as a kid, but it's too late to bitch about that kind of shit. I shouldn't be bitching at all because I know I'm never going to make any changes. I'll always be this way.

I lie back down and rub my achy forehead. My throat feels dry. So do my eyes. I still feel like fucking crying still, but I'm not going to. I hate crying. I hate feeling all weak and vulnerable and shit.

I force myself up and out of bed and make my way downstairs. I'm hung over and I need a fucking glass of water or a fried egg or something.

"Good morning Craig," my mom says teasingly as I enter the kitchen, "I didn't realize you had come home last night."

I grunt an irritated response.

"You're finally up." Ruby sits at the table, rudely chomping an apple, "You were such a grump last night I figured you'd be spending the day hiding away in your room."

I flip her off slyly, making sure our mom doesn't see as I head towards the fridge.

"Clyde called," she says. "He asked if you were home."

Grabbing the orange juice from the top shelf, I don't bother using a glass.

"I said you were asleep and to try again later. I don't know why he didn't just call your cellphone."

I shrug. "Guess it was shut off."

Ruby purses her lips and takes another bite of her apple.

"I thought you were planning on staying out last night," our mom interjects, rolling out the dough that she's made for biscuits.

"I was, but I wanted to come home. Plans fell through," I reiterate, scowling at Ruby and putting the juice back in the fridge.

"If that's what you call it." She smirks, raising an eyebrow.

I mimic her stare. "What?" I snap at her.

"Oh, nothing," she sing-songs.

I don't pry – partially because I don't want to know and partially because I don't want to act like I'm interested in anything she has to say. She gets annoying.

Unfortunately, she doesn't seem like she wants to let it go. "Karen told me something interesting that she heard from one of the boys at your little party last night."

I eye her, trying to play it cool. "Shut up, Ruby."

She presses a hand to her chest. "Ouch, Craig. It really hurts when you don't let me get a damn word out. Why are you so mean?"

"What happened at the party?" Mom cuts in, though she looks like she's only half interested.

"Why doesn't Craig tell us?" Ruby simpers.

"Nothing fucking happened!" I say, sounding shrill and a little desperate. I put the orange juice back in the fridge and slam the door shut.

"Craig," Mom warns. "Don't break the house."

I feel trapped and Ruby looks like she's loving every minute of it. She's such a little shit.

I wonder if she really knows what I think she knows… and if so, how many other people know?

Oh, God… I really fucked myself over.

.

.

School on Monday is nerve-wracking as fuck. Everyone knows and it's not difficult to tell by the way their eyes keep darting once I look their way. It's making my skin crawl.

I've been trying my best to do damage control on my relationship with Clyde by doing what I normally do – not replying to his slew of text messages.

I don't share any classes with him on Monday mornings, so I don't have to worry about dealing with a 'conversation' until lunch. At this point, I'm not sure he'll even try to bring it up. My brief explanation Saturday morning seemed to satisfy him, and I'm hoping that his confidence about the situation will rub off onto everyone else.

Unfortunately, Clyde's self-assurance doesn't seem to have had time to spread around school in the same way that my moment of indiscretion did.

"Hey, faggot."

Cartman's the first person I hear it from. I don't think Cartman even has a problem with gay people, but he has a problem with me.

"What do you want?" I ask, deadpan.

Exactly as usual.

"I just wanted to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. How's it feel to be rejected, Tucker?"

"I wasn't rejected," I say.

He cackles maliciously. "Oh, really? Then it was a different pair of lips plastered to Clyde's face?"

I feel myself heat up because this is all too fucking humiliating for words. "To be rejected I would have had to make a proposition of sorts. I didn't. I was drunk and stupid."

He's smiling. He looks so fucking smug and I can tell he doesn't believe a damn word that's coming out of my stupid liar mouth. He's probably been waiting to call me out all weekend. "Sure, Craig," he says in the most condescending tone I've ever heard. "Whatever makes you feel better."

"I mean it," I insist. "I was drunk."

"So, you're not a fag?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I stare at him, giving him a look that hopefully conveys the amount of revulsion I feel for him.

"See?" he snorts. "You can't even deny it."

I feel trapped yet again and sick to my fucking stomach. Instead of responding to him, I just turn away. I'll ignore him instead. I don't want to risk saying something that'll get me into even more shit. I'm kind of bad at self-control when I get too worked up.

I make my way down the hallway, trying to ignore the stares I'm getting. This is so damn cliché I want to hurl.

It's fucking embarrassing the way people in this town walk around acting like everything is their own damn business just because word travels fast.

In math I sit between the wall and Token, who thankfully either doesn't know or at the very least doesn't say anything. He's never been one for rumors, and if he has heard I'm sure he's planning on asking me about it privately later. That's what I like about him; he's probably the only person in this damn school who won't gossip. He's all about the facts.

Unfortunately, the morning goes by quickly, which means that I have to deal with Clyde.

I walk with Token down to the cafeteria, where we meet Clyde at our usual lunch table.

"Hey man, what's up?" he says, but I can sense the awkwardness in his voice as I sit down beside him.

I guess I should just be thankful that he's even trying at all and is dense enough to feel like he had to believe my half-assed explanation.

"Nothing," I say dryly, "Cartman is chewing me over this weekend, but I guess I fucking deserve it."

Clyde lets out a small, tense laugh.

"He just won't let it go. What bullshit," I say, emphasizing my disdain with Cartman's persistence, hoping that Clyde will catch on.

"Yeah. You made an honest mistake." Clyde takes a bite of his burrito. "You did tell him that, right?"

Trying to cover his own ass.

"Of course I fucking told him that," I spit out.

Clyde holds his hands up innocently. "Okay, dude, chill."

"Let's just fucking forget about it," I mutter.

God, I hope my face isn't as red as it feels. It probably is. My skin is as white as a sheet and I can't really hide the fact that I'm blushing easily.

I sit my backpack on my lap and unzip it, grabbing a cup of yoghurt.

"That all you're eating?" Clyde asks.

"Yes," I say flatly, slamming the cup on the table like I'm slamming down a shot glass.

"I can buy you something, dude," he offers.

"No, thanks," I respond tersely. "I'm not particularly hungry."

I peel back the cover and dip my spoon in, eating slowly. I feel self-conscious as hell. It's like no matter what I'm doing I feel like people are watching and judging. Usually that kind of shit wouldn't bother me, but now I actually have something to worry about.

"All right," Clyde relents.

Things feel tense.

Fuck, I wonder how long this is going to last?

And just when I think things can't get any more awkward, Jason sits down next to me. "Hey, Craig," he coos, talking as he eats a slice of pizza. "I heard about your little smooch with Clyde this weekend."

I swear to God I'm gonna have a fucking heart attack.

He starts laughing, giving me a disgusting view of all the food in his mouth.

"Get away, asshole!" I snap, shoving him. "You're spitting chunks of food all over me!" I glance at Clyde. He looks uncomfortable. I'm going to fucking skewer Jason. "Leave me the fuck alone," I snarl.

"Whatever, man," Jason says, unfazed.

If my face wasn't burning before, it definitely is now. I fucking hate the way people have been treating me.

I glance over at Token, who looks sympathetic but not surprised. "You okay, man?" he asks.

As I go to answer, Clyde beats me to it.

"What did you hear about this weekend?"

"A lot of different versions," Token shrugs, but then smirking adds, "I was able to write off most of them. You guys were just way too drunk, huh?"

"Craig," Clyde corrects, which pisses me off, "Craig was way too drunk."

Token glances sideways at me, and I know I must look as though I feel a little guilty – which I do.

"Well, mistakes happen, especially when you drink so much."

There it is. Token's playing mama bird, as always. He's against Clyde and I's party habits, and it shows. Honestly, Token probably thinks I deserve this, as some sort of sick punishment for my "poor judgement skills" and that it will "help me make better decisions in the future".

Maybe it will. All I know is that I'm not going to be getting drunk for a while. I can't wait for this all to blow over and become old news. I don't even want to know what people are saying about me. I don't know why Clyde has his pants in such a twist. People aren't teasing him – they're teasing me.

I sit quietly, listening to Clyde change the subject. He starts talking about sports and girls. I think he's trying to compensate for any gay rumours that might be floating around.

I feel a lump rise in my throat, but I'm quick to swallow it with a mouthful of yoghurt.

"Don't get so down on yourself, Craig," Jason says, slapping me hard on the back.

I lurch forward, nearly choking. I put a hand over my mouth, trying to catch my breath. When I've collected myself and swallowed, I turn and glance at Jason. "I swear to God, if you fucking touch me again I'm going to kick your ass."

"I'd love to see you try," he challenges.

"Guys," Token cuts in wearily, "Stop fighting. You guys do this shit every damn day. It gets old."

"He starts it," I mutter, sounding like a child.

But it's true. He always starts it. He knows how to twist my arm and pull a reaction out of me.

That's exactly what he's doing right now – trying to make me freak out. He's probably trying to gauge whether or not this situation with Clyde is a real thing, so I know I need to keep my temper under wraps.

I roll my eyes, getting up from the table and tossing my yoghurt in the trash. I've had enough of all these assholes and need a little space for myself before I have to go back to class.

On my way out of the cafeteria I run into Bebe, who catches me by the shoulder as I try to power past her. "Hey, how's it going?" she asks warmly.

God, I fucking hate her.

"Fine," I pull away, "Since when do you keep tabs on me?"

She looks offended, "I'm not keeping tabs on you! Jesus Craig, I was just checking in. You were just so pissed the last time I saw you."

"Of fucking course I was. I was fucking drunk off my ass and had just sloppily planted one on my best friend, and then you came along and tried to act all fucking sorry for me." I have to work to keep myself from shouting.

She is taken aback. "Christ, calm down!" she snaps back. She's not one to take shit, but I'm one to dish it. So, she ends up shouting at me a lot and I end up shouting back.

"I am calm," I say tersely.

She softens and says, "I was just going to ask if you wanted to talk."

"Do I look like I want to talk?" I bite out.

I don't and definitely not to her.

"No," she admits, "but you look like you _need_ to."

"You don't know what I need," I tell her.

She shrugs, paying my attitude little mind. "People are spreading lies. This stupid rumour has gone through the grapevine so many times that it's just a twisted and convoluted form of the original."

"Goodie," I mutter cynically. "Spare me the details, thanks. I'm not in the mood for humiliation."

She frowns and says, "I _am_ sorry, you know. I'm sorry the kids here are such assholes."

"People love this kind of shit, don't they?" I mumble.

"Sure," she agrees. "Everyone loves drama as long as it doesn't involve them. People are nosy shits. It will die down soon enough," she adds after a moment, "but you should probably give it a little longer to go back to normal with Clyde."

"Yeah. I fucking know. He's being all awkward and shitty." I roll my eyes. "I feel like he believes that it was an honest mistake but he's still acting like this is all about how everyone is making him feel about it."

"If you're so sure that it was just a mistake, it probably is less about you and him and more about him and everyone else at this point." Bebe shrugs. "Everyone knows you were drunk, but Clyde was sober, so where does that leave him? He probably believes you but doesn't want anyone else to blow it out of proportion. It would be so easy for people to turn the whole thing into 'Craig was drunk, but look at how Clyde didn't protest! He probably liked it,' or, 'It was all mutual!' Clyde's just trying to cover his own ass, I bet."

"Not like he needs to." I mutter, "Everyone knows he likes you."

Bebe looks irritated, "Right, well, we aren't together, and people's feelings change. So…" With that, she turns and walks away from me down the hall, heels clicking on the tiles.

I raise my hand and flip her off as she walks away. God, I can't fucking stand her.

I wander around until it's time for my next class. Gym. I'm really not up for that bullshit, so I skip. I go outside through the back exit and sit on the concrete stairs behind the school. I bum a cigarette off of some stoner and smoke it by myself.

It's fucking freezing out, but I don't care. I loiter around outside even after I'm done smoking. I debate on just walking home early, but soon the bell rings. Fuck it. I'll just head to my last class. I can make it.

Inside, I sit in the back corner away from everyone else. When Clyde walks in, he sits on the opposite end with Token. Naturally. He'll probably just insist he didn't see me later.

I pull out my scribbler and pretend to take notes when the teacher starts to talk. I don't think I've taken a single note all year. I'm a shit student. My grades are crap. I don't care, though. I just want to be done. I don't have many goals or aspirations for my future. I just want to settle down already and get a mundane job. Something boring.

I want to do something with animals, but I could never be a vet. I'd have to deal with so many shitty pet-owners. Ones who would rather do stupid shit like amputate their dog's broken leg than pay for the cast and rehabilitation it needs. I could work in a pet shop, but I probably wouldn't sell to anyone who seemed incompetent, and that's where I run into a problem.

I might have to settle with working at some sort of doggy daycare.

I glance at Clyde out of the corner of my eyes. He's fixed on the teacher, which is surprising considering there's usually a largely futile effort on her part to get him to quiet down.

He honestly probably doesn't want to draw any more attention to himself.

I would be lying if I said I didn't feel bad. I didn't mean to drag him into this – I never meant for him to have to deal with this at all. I know I like Clyde, but I know that he doesn't like me because I'm not an idiot. I was planning to just ride the feeling out, and I don't know what the fuck came over me to think that kissing him at all, let alone publically, was a good idea.

I'm always a stupid drunk, but last weekend's display takes the cake.

Fuck.

I stare ahead, trying to pay attention to what the teacher is saying but it won't sink in. It never does. I have a hard time paying attention to boring shit.

Unable to keep my eyes open, I feel myself start to drift until –

"Craig Tucker, pay attention!"

I open my eyes, putting my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand. Kids in the class are staring at me. Cartman starts snickering. I ignore him.


	3. Chapter 3

Soon enough, the day is over. Thank Christ. I book it out of class and head straight to my locker, shoving all my books inside and locking it. I don't linger after that and I don't bother waiting for the bus. I just run home.

I'm relieved to find that Ruby and my parents aren't back yet, but as soon as I walk in the front door my phone is buzzing in my pocket.

I pull it out to check who's calling, but when I see Clyde's name on the screen I let it go to voicemail. He calls again without missing a beat. This time, I answer.

"Hello?" I ask into the receiver.

" _Hey man_ ," I hear Clyde say, " _How's it going_?"

"Okay," I lie.

" _I didn't see you on the bus, did you get a ride home?"_

Clyde and I have been taking the same bus home together for years. We're practically next-door neighbors, so it works out. Of course he was bound to notice that I was missing.

"I felt like walking," I say, tossing my backpack onto the floor of my living room.

" _Dude_ …" Clyde pauses, " _Are you like, avoiding me_?"

I wasn't expecting Clyde to be so confrontational.

"No, I mean, I don't know," I say noncommittally, "I thought maybe you could use some space."

Clyde is silent for a moment. He makes me feel so damn nervous.

" _Look man, it's okay_ ," he starts, " _Just like, you don't have to feel so weird about it_."

"I thought you were the one feeling weird about it," I retort.

" _Well, yeah, but I mean, you're my best friend so it's cool, okay? I know it was a mistake, so like, just don't be so fucking weird."_

It was a mistake, it was a mistake, it was a mistake.

But it wasn't really a fucking mistake and that's the worst fucking part.

I roll my eyes even though he can't see it. I don't try to argue with him. "All right," I simply relent. "Anyway, I have some shit to do, so I'll see you tomorrow."

" _All right, later, dude."_

With that, I hang up.

I wasn't lying. Not really. I have homework. I have an essay in English that I haven't even started yet.

In my room, I sit at my desk and open my laptop. I pull up Microsoft Word and write my name and the course. Then I decide that's good enough for one day.

I don't even fucking know what I want to write my essay on.

We're supposed to do a critical analysis of the assigned reading – _Catcher in the Rye_.

Why was this book even banned? There's nothing in it.

I reach into my book bag and pull it out, staring at the cover before opening to the first page.

They say some kids really relate to this book, but I just don't fucking get it. He's just some whiny, over-privileged little asswipe. He doesn't have any real-world crap to deal with and I can't get past the first couple chapters before starting to feel bitter that someone had the gall to write about this shit.

It pisses me off that Clyde's telling me to just be cool. If anything, he's the one who needs to play it cool. I've been playing it cool with him for coming up on four years now – ever since I was old enough to figure out what it meant to want to be more than just someone's best friend. He's had to deal with the implications for less than three days and he's already losing it.

God, this is all so fucking shitty.

I wish I had never gone to that party. I should have just told Clyde no, but I can never just tell him no. He always pulls some crap about just caring about me and wanting to get me out of the house to interact with new people.

I used to hope that maybe him always dragging me along was a sign that he actually might like me. Clyde has a way with words that isn't just reserved for the ladies.

Well, fuck it.

Christ, I need to stop worrying about this. I need to stop thinking all together.

.

.

Come Friday I pass in my shitty essay. I didn't put much effort into it, so I'll probably get a D, maybe a C if I'm lucky.

Come night, I stay home. I know there are parties going on, but I want no part in any of them. Especially not after everything that happened last weekend. I've had my fill of fun.

I sit my ass on the sofa in the living room and flick through channels.

"Aren't you going out?" Ruby asks me. "It's the weekend."

I turn around and see her dolled up. She must be going to a party.

"No," I state flatly. "I'm staying in."

"You're so damn boring," she murmurs. "Then again, maybe you're just all embarrassed about what happened on the weekend, huh?"

I ignore her. "Fuck off."

She's not wrong. I am fucking embarrassed about last weekend, but that's not the reason I'm not going out. I hardly ever do on my own and Clyde and I have been walking on eggshells around one another all week.

I've resigned myself to watching movies by myself all night. I'm not one to brag, but I am a bit of a film buff, and I haven't had time lately to increase my watch list.

I'm more than happy to be spending some time by myself finally, especially after this week at school, and am halfway through _American Beauty_ before I get a call from Bebe.

" _Can you come pick up Clyde from my house_?" she asks urgently.

"What, why?"

" _We're all a little drunk and he picked a fight with Jason. He just wants to go home now but no one can drive him_ ," Bebe explains.

"Okay," I sigh into the receiver, and then hang up.

When I arrive at Bebe's, she looks exhausted and Clyde looks pissed, little wads of tissue jammed up his nose.

"What happened?" I ask as I notice the bruises forming under his eyes.

"I got sick of Jason's shit."

"Jason was teasing about last weekend," Bebe says exasperatedly, "He already left."

"Alright," I mumble, as I help Clyde up and usher him out the door.

When we reach the car I'm borrowing from my mom, I open the passenger side door for him.

Clyde gets in without a word.

"You shouldn't fight with Jason," I say, rolling my eyes and turning the keys in the ignition.

"Talk shit, get hit," Clyde mumbles.

God, what a moron.

"Okay, well, I'll take you back to my house."

"No," Clyde says sharply, "I just want to go home."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Why don't you want to come back to my house?" I ask him.

"Because I just don't!" he says in the same, snappy tone.

"Are you worried I might try to pull the fucking moves on you again?" I bite out.

"No," he murmurs.

"Yeah, right," I respond, not believing it.

"I'm not gay," he says out of the blue. He's staring out the window and as far away from me as possible.

I grind my teeth together. "I fucking know that, you asshole! You're like a walking no-homo!"

"You sure you know?" he asks.

I pull over to the side of the road, parking on the gravel and staring at him. "What the fuck?" I say tersely.

He glances at me and I can tell how fucking smashed he is. He needs to sober up.

"Ugh," he groans suddenly, rubbing his head. "God, just hurry up… my head hurts!"

"Baby," I mutter.

I drive him to his house and park the car. He struggles to unlock the door, so I grab the keys from him and do it for him. Inside, I walk him to the kitchen and fill him a glass of water.

"Sip," I instruct, handing it to him.

He looks at me bitterly before grabbing the cup from my hand.

"You need to take it down a fucking notch," I say suddenly, but Clyde doesn't respond. He just keeps his eyes focused on the bottom of the glass. "Weren't _you_ just lecturing _me_ on overdoing it? Practise what you preach."

"I'm going to bed." He sets the water down and turns towards the stairs.

He's lucky his dad works late hours at that shoe shop his family owns. I don't know who the hell is buying shoes at 11PM on a Friday, but Roger never seems to be home.

"Okay," I say, but he's halfway up the steps before I begin to follow to make sure he's okay.

"I'm fine," he reiterates.

"Good." I'm irritated, but trying hard not to let it show through.

"No, I mean like, I'm good. You can go home."

"What the fuck?" I stop on the bottom step, "Why are you being such a dick?"

"I'm not. Your house is like, a block away, just go home." He turns around, looking at me from the top of the stairs, "I just want to be alone."

"Really?" I ask sharply, "You just want to fucking be alone?"

"What? Do you want me to fucking say it?" Clyde shouts suddenly, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jacket.

"Fucking say what?" I shout back.

"That I'm fucking uncomfortable!"

I feel my jaw drop and for a minute I'm too surprised to say anything. "I was drunk, you asshole!" I yell. "All you care about is your stupid reputation! You're so fucking concerned with what everyone else thinks of you! Why? Why the hell does it matter?"

God, I'm so fucking angry.

"It just does!" he yells back.

"I didn't mean to kiss you then and there!"

A pause.

I slipped up.

"Wait –" I try to correct myself, but it's too late.

"So, what?" Clyde asks quietly. "You meant to kiss me a different time and a different place?"

"That's not what I meant!"

He's quiet. He just stares at me and I feel like he's reading me so damn easily.

"N-no," I stutter out. "That's not what I meant…"

He keeps staring at me and my heart feels like it's going a million miles per second.

It's quiet. It's too quiet. He's not saying anything. I don't know what he's thinking, but he's probably thinking bad things – bad things about me. I feel the familiar lump rising in my throat. This time, it's too much to swallow. I feel my eyes glaze over and turn glassy. I feel myself grow teary. When I blink, they fall.

Clyde softens and says my name in this piteous, sympathetic tone. "Craig…"

"Shut up!" I shout pleading, yet again feeling trapped.

We both stay silent for a moment. I want to fucking disappear.

"Hey…come on, man," Clyde says, concerned.

"You fucking come on," I bite back.

He looks unsure of what to do, but after a moment thuds down the stairs and places a hand on my shoulder. "I'm really sorry…" he says quietly, "I didn't know."

"How could you not know?" My voice is shaky and it's hard to get the words out.

"I don't know, really. I, uh, I guess I've had some lurking suspicion in the past, but I kind of wrote it off to me being full of it or reading too far into things." He pauses, "You're a little hard to assume things about, you know."

"I know," I murmur back.

"I don't really, I mean, I'm not—" Clyde begins, but I cut him off.

"I know you aren't gay."

Clyde looks at me and shrugs, "Well, I mean, I'm not NOT gay. I guess."

That's the first I'm hearing of this.

"It's just that, well, I guess I don't really know. I've never done any of that," he adds, "I don't really think I like guys, but, I mean, you're my best friend."

To be honest, I'm not really following, and I guess it shows because Clyde follows up, pink in the cheeks, by adding: "I guess I would be lying if I said I never wondered what that would be like."

I feel my lips part. "What…?"

He huffs. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" he asks me flatly. Before I can answer, he nods for me to follow him and he turns around.

We go up to his room and stand awkwardly in the center.

"What, um, what now?" I ask stupidly, feeling somewhat self-conscious. I have to remind myself that it's only Clyde – Clyde, who I've known almost my whole damn life.

"I'm going to try something," he says. He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans forward slowly and hesitantly. Soon, our mouths are pressed together. I watch his eyes slip shut before finally closing my own. My lips part almost immediately and I feel his tongue slide against mine.

Then he pulls away. He looks at me, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "Uh… sorry, man…" he murmurs. "I'm not really… I dunno, I can't really get into it, y'know?"

"Yeah," is all I say, wiping my mouth.

"You can stay the night, though… if you want?" he offers.

I shrug my shoulders. "Nah, it's fine. My mom probably wants her car back anyway."

"Alright, bye man. Thanks for bringing me home."

"Bye."

I beeline it out of Clyde's room and into the safety of my mom's SUV. "Fuck!" I scream, slamming my head into the steering wheel. How could I have let that happen? That wasn't what I wanted. Our relationship is never going to go back to normal now. I knew Clyde didn't like me. I fucking knew it! And I kept hoping and now everything is ruined.

The drive is short and I pull the car into my driveway not even half a minute later. I unlock the door and storm up the stairs.

"Craig?" My dad catches me as he comes out of the bathroom at the top of the steps.

I don't respond, and brush past him to get to my room.

"Are you alright?" he calls after me.

"Fine!" I shout back, slamming my door. My guinea pig squeals and scurries around her cage.

I want to scream. I feel like I'm losing my shit. I can't fucking believe what just happened.

A knock on my door.

"Craig, honey?"

This time it's my mom.

"What?" I croak out.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No," I say quietly, "I just want to be left alone."

"Alright," she says, and then silence.

God, I'm going to start fucking crying again. I can feel it. I flop lifelessly onto my bed, pushing my face into the sheets. I try to be as quiet as I can. I don't want to attract the attention of my mom or dad. They're probably downstairs, trying to figure out why I'm being such a moody fucking cow.

I'm always kind of moody, but I guess this is worse than usual.

Thank Christ Ruby isn't here.

After what feels like an hour (but was probably just ten minutes), I force myself up. Crying always takes a lot out of me.

I walk across the room and stare at myself in the mirror on my closet door. I lean forward, examining myself critically. I think I'm all right to look at. I could probably find someone if I didn't live in a shit-hole town like South Park. Sometimes girls get crushes on me, but it's nothing I can return.

I wish I wasn't like this.

Would it be easier if I wasn't?

I slap my cheeks lightly, trying to will away the flush.

"You're okay," I tell myself, but it's hard to believe.

Chances are, nothing's okay, least of all me.

My only shot at letting this die down just sunk with Clyde, because without him defending himself and me by proxy, there's nothing to keep Cartman or Jason off my back.

Maybe it will be alright. Maybe something happened this weekend that will be of greater interest to those assholes.

If I keep denying everything, maybe they'll leave me alone. Besides, as far as they know, nothing's happened since last weekend. No one was around to see. At least I had the fucking common sense to keep it private this time around.

Everything will be fine. I'll keep getting shit about my drunken smooch from Cartman, but a few weeks from now something new will happen and he'll move on. That will be the end of it.

Clyde and I can be fucking friends just like we've always been because that's better than the sack of horse shit I'm in now.

I'd rather be alone forever than deal with this crap.

.

.

The following morning I sleep in late, forgetting about morning classes. I roll out of bed around 12PM – lunch time. I take a quick shower and then put my pajamas back on, not bothering to get dressed in my day clothes. I slip into my boots and grab my coat before slumping to school. I take the long way and try not to think about how much I don't want to be here.

By the time I'm walking into the parking lot, the bell is ringing signalling the start of afternoon classes. I guess I'm just in time. At least I missed break, so I won't have to deal with too much shit.

I grab my note book from my locker before walking to class. I show up late and the teacher calls me out.

"Thanks for joining," she says sarcastically.

Kids snicker and stare.

I don't respond. I just take my seat in the back corner of the classroom – far away from everyone else.

Math goes off without a hitch, despite that fact that I'm fucking terrible at it, and I have my bag packed up by the time the bell rings.

The teacher mumbles something about a quiz next class, which, tragically, I already know I won't be prepared for.

It doesn't matter. I just need to get to my next class.

Out the door and halfway down the hall, Jason hip-checks me.

"Hey," he sneers, "How was your weekend?"

"Fine," I say uncomfortably, trying to push past him.

He still has a black eye, from where I'm assuming Clyde socked him.

"Sounded like it," Jason winks.

I don't know what he means, but I don't I think I want to.

Jason makes smoochy lips at me, and walks away. I turn around, shoving my hands in my pockets and moving quickly.

I still can't believe he started shit with Clyde, or that he's keeping it up. He's just asking for another shiner.

I don't know why he can't just mind his own fucking business. I can't even consider him a friend after all the shit he's been doing.

I guess friend was always a loose term with me and Jason. We never really got along all that great, even at the best of times. I know I'm a bit of a cold asshole sometimes, but he's worse. Plus, it's not like I'm trying to make people feel bad. Sometimes I do it without realizing it. Jason, on the other hand, gets off on it. Like Cartman.

I make my way to English and, as always, I sit in the back of the room. This time, however, Token sits with me.

"Hey," he says, smiling at me.

"Hey," I echo, forcing a smile in return. It probably comes out looking pretty flat.

"How's… things?" he asks.

"Same, I guess," I tell him, shrugging.

Soon enough, Clyde joins us. He sits on the other side of Token. He nods to me and I nod back, but we don't talk. I guess that's fine.

The teacher walks in a split second later and the lesson begins.

Halfway through class, I can feel Clyde watching me.

I stare back at him, and his eyes shoot back to the teacher. I don't blame him. The last thing either of us needs is our classmates to misinterpret our 'thoughtful, longing glances.'

He looks embarrassed. I guess I would be too.

I feel guilty for dragging him into all of this. As much as I can deny being gay, Clyde actually isn't, and has been putting up with a lot for my sake.

Jason probably really deserved that wide-ass bruise across his face. I can't even imagine what he must have been saying to wind Clyde up like that. He's usually so passive.

It's hard to watch him feel so uncomfortable, but I know he's not going anywhere because at least he tried. I still can't fucking believe that he tried for me. If that isn't a serious level of commitment to our friendship than I don't know what is.

I think he knows I'm watching him, because he's getting more and more fidgety over the fucking zipper on his pencil case. Finally, I roll my eyes, and turn down to the page of _Catcher in the Rye_ we're supposed to be reading along on, and I feel his eyes snap back to me.

It's like a fucking game of back and forth. Nonetheless, I keep my attention on the page in front of me. I try to read along, but it doesn't really sink in. My mind is all over the place.

I wish I didn't have a stupid crush on Clyde. This is such a shitty situation. I don't want to wreck things more than I already have. It'll probably take some time for things to return back to the way they were before the drunken kiss.

I don't even know why the fuck I like Clyde.

I guess it's because he's nice. He's really nice. He's patient, too – especially with me. Most people aren't. He's nice to look at. He's strong. He has nice eyes. They're brown. People say brown eyes are boring, but I like his. They always light up when he's talking about things that excite him – usually sports. I can't really get into those kinds of conversations, but I still humour him because that's what friends are for. He does the same. He listens to me talk about things he doesn't particularly care for because he knows I care.

God, that's sappy and gay.

I used to think that the first person I felt that way about would like me back, because how the hell could I ever find myself in a one-sided romance? That only happens to people who aren't self-aware, right?

The bell rings and Clyde is up and out of class before I can even put my books away.

"Jesus," I murmur under my breath, and Token looks at me sympathetically.

"Give it some time." He shrugs.

"I just wish that he wasn't so fucking weird about everything," I admit.

No use hiding from Token.

"I know." He leans over, handing me one of my pencils that rolled under the desk during class. "Just try to keep in mind that he's probably mostly feeling weird about himself."

We leave the classroom together, but Token splits off quickly because his locker is on the other side of the school. Mine is back towards my math class, and I need my books from my missed classes this morning before I head home for the day.

"Hey, cutie," I hear as I fiddle with my combination lock, "I heard what you did."

I turn around to see Annie, tapping her foot with Heidi behind her.

"Yeah, you and everyone else," I say sharply, turning back to my locker.

"I heard you meant it."

"I didn't," I correct her.

"No, I mean, I heard from Clyde that you meant it."

I pause, getting nervous at where this conversation is inevitably headed. "What do you mean?" I ask, still not facing them. My hands start shaking, making it virtually impossible to open my god damn locker.

"He's saying you're gay or whatever," Heidi reveals, cutting in.

Fucking hell.

"He's just trying to cover his ass," I mutter. "Neither of us is gay, so you can stop perpetuating the rumours."

I hear them both tapping their heels against the tiled floor.

 _Click, click, click…_

They don't believe me. They're like fuckin' vultures, waiting for me to fall on my ass.

"Oh, really?" Annie finally simpers.

"Yes, really," I murmur. "Rumors like this go through the grapevine and back. It's pathetic to put stock into them."

"Then why are you shaking like a leaf?" Heidi asks.

I turn around and snap, "Because you're pissing me off! Do I have to fucking spell it out for you? _I'm_ not gay! _Clyde's_ not gay! Fuck off!" My voice gets louder and louder until I'm shouting. They both look somewhat taken aback by my outburst. They glance at each other. When I think they're going to leave me alone, they don't.

"Why are you getting so defensive?" Heidi asks sweetly.

I swear, I'm ready to start pulling my fucking hair out.

"Because that's a hell of an accusation!" I spit out, "We're not gay—have you forgotten about Clyde fucking Bebe?"

A pause.

"We're not talking about Clyde," Annie starts, "We're talking about you." She smirks. "We know about this weekend. We know that you came to get Clyde after his fight with Jason and we know that you went home with him."

"Yeah, I fucking took his drunk ass home," I say through gritted teeth.

"But you're leaving out what happened after you took him home," Heidi sing-songs lightly, "That he tried to make you leave because it made him feel weird that you were so keen on being there and you told him you didn't mean to kiss him at that party, because you wanted to do it at a different, better time."

I feel my chest tighten. This is it. This is fucking it.

"And then you kissed him, and he had to tell you for the millionth time that he wasn't gay because you couldn't get the fucking hint the first time around," she finishes, pointing at me accusingly.

Please, God, make her shut the fuck up because I really don't want to slap a girl.

My heart is beating so fast I feel like I might puke it out. For a brief moment, I can't bring myself to say a damn word.

I feel humiliated, angry, ashamed… but worse than any of that I feel fucking betrayed. Clyde didn't have to do that. He didn't have to. No one would have fucking known we kissed a second time. We were alone and it was late and no one else was there. I don't know why he's telling people. I especially don't know why the fuck he's telling people that I started it the second time around. It was him. He initiated it. He said we could try. _He_ fucking kissed _me_.

"Clyde initiated it!" I blurt out. I can feel my temper rising to new heights. "Yeah, I was mad he was trying to fucking kick me out, but I didn't try to fucking force myself on him! He was the one who wanted to fucking kiss me! He said he was fucking _curious_!" I start shrieking at them. My voice just keeps getting louder and louder and I know I'm attracting a lot of unwanted attention, but I don't even care anymore. There's no way in hell this can get any worse for me. It's about as bad as it can get and if Clyde is going to bring me down, then I'll take him with me. I pause and take a breath. "GOD!" I finish, laughing almost hysterically.

I expect Annie and Heidi to back off after my outburst, but they don't. They stand there, smiles spread across their faces.

"That's interesting." Heidi glances down the hall at the few of our classmates that have begun to collect. "That's not what we heard at all."

"That's because Clyde's fucking lying," I say bitterly, forgetting about my locker. "Check your facts next time, bitch."

The smile disappears from her face and I tear away from them down the hall.

"That's what we were doing, asshole!" Heidi calls after me, but I don't care to turn around.

This is it and I know it. The cat's out of the fucking bag. I pass Bill and Fosse, and I know they'll be reporting to Terrence. Butters will tell Cartman, and I'm sure Jason already knows. He fucking knew before any of this even happened. He knew that I'm gay and that maybe Clyde was a little curious—I'm positive that's why Clyde hit him. There's no other reason.

I can't fucking believe that Clyde has been spreading lies about me. Some fucking best friend he is. I swear to god the next time I see him I'm going to kick his ass. I don't care if he knocks my fucking teeth out. Maybe if we beat each other into the ground that will be the next big school news headline: "Gay Lovers End Relationship Face Down in the Dirt!" I can fucking see it now.

God. Just when I was getting all mushy in thought about him he turns around and pulls a stupid stunt like this. The worst part is that I know that no one is going to believe me. I don't have any credit at this school. I'm a slacker. Clyde, on the other hand, is one of the school's golden boys because he's an athlete.

I leave the building and exit the school property promptly, not bothering to wait for the bus. I shove my hands in my pockets and walk home. I take the scenic route, not wanting to be seen by anyone who might be driving home.

I don't know what I'm going to do now. I guess there's nothing left to do. I did all I could.

Clyde's making my life hell.

Sure, I started this whole mess… but he didn't have to finish it.

I start sniffling a bit by the time I reach my street. I wipe my nose on my sleeve, trying to calm myself down. My heart is literally aching.

Looking up, I see a familiar orange jacket coming down my street. Kenny must be on his way home from Stan's. Hoping to avoid a confrontation, I cross the street, so quickly I also slip on a patch of ice. Kenny doesn't take the hint.

"Hey!" he shouts, crossing the street after me.

I slow down, and Kenny jogs up to me, trudging through the snow on the greenstrip.

"How's it going?" He chuckles, giving me a swift pat on the shoulder. "Rough day at school?"

"You heard?" I say apathetically. The last thing I need is Kenny fucking McCormick on my case.

"Yeah man, I think everyone did."

"Dude, just fuck off," I snap.

"Woah," Kenny pauses, "I'm not trying to be an ass."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

Kenny clicks his tongue. "Just for the record I didn't believe Clyde to begin with."

"How the fuck do you even know about that?" I ask. "That wasn't even a fucking half hour ago."

"Kyle overheard, and then Stan gave us all a ride back to his place because I needed to borrow one of his books." Kenny holds up a torn-ass copy of _Catcher in the Rye_. "He told us about it on the way over."

I roll my eyes. Great. Everyone is talking.

"What the fuck do you know?"

"Jeez, I'm sorry, this isn't really coming out right. I'm fucking bad with words, okay?" He smirks, "Look, I just want to say that I've been there, done that. I'm not one to point fingers. I know this kind of shit can be hard."

"What?" I ask flatly, not quite sure where he's getting at.

"I mean, like, I've been with dudes," he says with a shrug.

"What?" I ask again.

He rolls his eyes at me, but he's still smiling so clearly he isn't mad. "You want me to spell it out for you or something? I've kissed guys, I've blown guys, I've fucked guys."

I'm somewhat taken aback. For a minute, I don't say anything. I've heard the rumours about Kenny, sure, but I don't like to put too much thought into the rumours that float through the halls at school.

"Oh," is all I muster up. "So… you like men?"

"Half right, I guess," he says, shrugging once more.

"Oh," I say again.

"Yeah," he responds, "So, honestly, it'll blow over. People here just love a good story. That's what small towns are like."

I guess, in his own way, he's trying to make me feel better… and though it's not really working I can still appreciate it.

As I reach my front door, Kenny waves goodbye, and tells me that if anyone gives me too hard a time, to let him know and that he'll rough them up.

I don't think Kenny is actually capable of laying a finger on anyone—he's a pretty scrawny dude—but the sentiment makes me want to smile.

Once I'm inside my house, however, the lingering feelings of frustration set in.

"Fuck." I toss my backpack on the floor.

I have to talk to Clyde. I know I fucking have to. I should walk right over to his house and give him a piece of my mind, but I don't fucking want to. I don't want to see his stupid fucking face or his fucking perfect smile and listen to him explain why the hell he lied to everyone about me. He doesn't have an excuse. I know he won't. He was just trying to cover his own sorry ass. As per usual.

.

.

In the late evening, I finally force myself to head over to Clyde's. Thinking it all over is pissing me off even more, but I'm trying to stay calm. I know Clyde would just lash out if I started yelling. I'm the same way. I lash out when people start yelling, too.

When I'm on his doorstep, I ring the bell a few times before letting myself in.

"CLYDE!" I shout.

He appears at the top of the stairs a split second later. "What do you want?" he asks as he descends.

"Why are you spreading lies about me?" I ask shakily.

He looks guilty. For a while, he doesn't respond. He just stares at the floor, far away from me.

"Come on!" I say impatiently. " _Why_ are you spreading fucking lies about me? We _both_ know what you said wasn't fucking true! Why do you care? You don't have anything to prove to them and even if you did you shouldn't be using me to do it!"

"Well," Clyde says uncomfortably, tapping his fingers on the handrail of the stairs, "I mean, you wouldn't go home when I asked you to, and I was really drunk. You made me feel pressured, so I did what I thought you wanted—"

"Shut up!" I cut him off, "Just shut the fuck up!"

Clyde looks taken aback, but I can't handle standing here and listening to this bullshit anymore.

"You know I didn't pressure you into anything! That was 100% you!" I shake my head at him, "Why the fuck did you tell anyone about that night anyway? No one was there—No one saw. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell anyone. No one needed to know!"

"I left with you."

"So fucking what? We're best friends! Of course I came to pick you up when you were too drunk to drive your own sorry ass home!"

"I know, but people weren't letting it go. I just want everyone off my back; I didn't ask for any of this you know."

"And you think I did?"

I swear to god I'll fucking strangle him.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Bill and Fosse kept bringing it up," he says guiltily.

"Okay," I seethe, "But I hope you know that when people bring it up with me I'll be fucking clarifying about that."

For a moment, Clyde just stares at me. I can tell he didn't think this all the way through.

"I, uh—" he says with a tremor in his voice.

" _I, uh_ …" I repeat him in a mocking tone before harshly demanding, "You _what_?"

He says nothing.

"Look," I murmur, "I _like_ you. I know you don't want me to. Fuck, I don't want me to, either… but I do and I can't really control it." I pause and shrug. I know my face is probably as red as a beet, but I'm trying to keep cool. I never thought I'd actually get the words out, but it feels all right. It's not like this is a big secret by now anyway. "I'll, like, try to move on and whatever…"

Clyde shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms. "How long have you felt this way?" he asks.

"A while," I admit with a shrug. "Well, more than a while. Years, I guess. I just kind of pushed it aside because I knew it wouldn't amount to anything."

"You should've told me sooner…" he murmurs.

I laugh callously at that. "Why? So you could be a huge dick to me like you are now? No. It's hard to control your feelings and I really don't want to be shamed for mine."

"I'm not meaning to be a dick," he starts, "I just—you're my best friend. I want to forget any of this ever happened."

"Then fucking forget!" I finally shout.

That's it. I've had enough. I turn around and throw open the door, not even bothering to close it behind me as I leave.

"Craig, hold on!" Clyde shouts, but I'm not going back to finish that conversation.

I wipe furiously at my eyes as I feel tears begin to well up. I'm done with his massive levels of bullshit. If he wants to keep lying to the entire student body, fine. I don't care. I'm not about to let people push me around for some crap that isn't even true. Clyde can deal with the repercussions when Annie and Heidi spread new rumors around the school.

When I reach my house, I check over my shoulder. Clyde didn't follow me, thank god.

My parents are home, so I try to collect myself, before opening the door and booking it up the stairs to my room.


	4. Chapter 4

At school the following day the inevitable happens. I should have expected this, but somehow I am still surprised.

 _FAG._

It's written on my locker in huge, chunky lettering. All capitals, like someone is shouting the word right in my face.

This sucks.

I raise my hand and try to smudge it or smear it, but no luck. It's written in what looks like permanent marker. I take a sharpie out of my backpack and color over the letters. I glance back and forth, hoping a teacher won't see me.

No teachers, but instead I spot Clyde barrelling down the hallway. He looks cranky. And there's a big cast on his arm. I let out a sigh. He probably did something fucking stupid.

I turn away, refusing to even glance at him.

I scribble over the word on my locker and then finally open it up, grabbing my shit and strolling to class. I immediately find Token and whisper, "Hey, what happened to Clyde's hand?"

"That dipshit punched a hole through his wall," Token says with a snort. "He messed up his thumb. His dad is pretty pissed off."

"I bet," I mutter.

And, speak of the devil, not a second later he walks into the classroom. He doesn't bother sitting with me and Token. He just sits alone.

"Did something else happen between you two?"

"I went over to his house to talk to him last night." I shrug. "He was fine when I got there, so he must have punched the wall or whatever after I left."

"Was he really lying about what happened with you guys this weekend?" Token whispers, not wanting to attract the attention of the kids sitting at the desks around us.

"You better fucking believe it," I respond aggressively.

Of course Token knows. Token was probably one of the first people Clyde lied to.

"That's what we were talking about last night," I say, tucking my feet up under my chair. "He tried to justify it with a shitty excuse like he always does when he knows he fucked up. What he was saying didn't even make any fucking sense. I guess some guys were hassling him and he felt pressured to come up with something to get himself out of it."

"That fucking sucks man," Token says sympathetically, as the teacher enters the classroom. "If you want to talk about it more, let's have lunch, okay? I want to know what's going on from your perspective. I feel like all I've heard are crappy rumors," he finishes quickly, before turning back to the history book on his desk.

I appreciate that. Token isn't one to humour us when we're all busy being morons, but when things get serious he's the first to get real.

I force myself to focus on the teacher. I manage to take a few notes before the class is over. The morning goes by quickly and soon enough it's lunch. I grab Token by the sleeve and he smiles, saying, "All right, let's go eat."

Instead of heading to the cafeteria, we eat lunch in the empty art classroom. I dip a spoon in some yoghurt while Token bites on an apple. For a while, we don't talk. I try to contemplate exactly what I want to say. I guess it doesn't matter, though. Token is a lot more trustworthy than Clyde is. Token wouldn't spill any of the shit I said.

"I like Clyde," I confess out of the blue. "I've liked him for a really long time… and I guess I just couldn't help kissing him when I got drunk."

Token nods his head, wordlessly telling me to continue.

I let out a breath. "The second time it happened he initiated it… He was curious… So, we kissed again. He said he wasn't into it. That was that."

"Tsk," Token clicks his tongue. "Clyde needs to stop worrying so much what other people think about him."

"Mm…" I agree airily. "I'm really fucking pissed off at him…"

"No wonder," Token murmurs.

"I just don't even understand why he felt the need to tell people. There's no way anyone would have found out if he hadn't said something." I take another bite of yoghurt. "Now I feel like he expects me to pass what he said off as the truth."

"Well, it's not, and honestly I think Annie and Heidi made sure that no one really thinks so anymore."

"I kind of figured as much," I admit, "But it doesn't really make a difference for me in the end. Someone wrote 'fag' on my locker this morning before I got to school."

Token frowns, "Someone wrote that on Clyde's locker, too."

"Ugh," I let out a moan of frustration. "That's—fuck. That's great. Jesus fucking Christ."

"It freaked him out," Token adds. "He came and found me and I tried to help him wash it off because he can't do much with that big chunk of plaster hanging off his hand. He got too frustrated and we just ended up leaving it."

"I scribbled over mine," I say, fidgeting with my spoon.

"I think Clyde is going to ask the school for a new locker. He said he couldn't deal with looking at that every morning."

I feel guilty. I can't say that I don't. I know it's not my fault for liking him, but I still wish I could have handled everything differently.

And, like he's reading my mind, Token says, "It's not your fault, dude. I mean, this is a shit-show, but it's not your fault. It shouldn't be this hard. Kids are assholes, though. They're the ones making it hard."

"Yeah," I mumble forlornly.

Token pats me on the shoulder. "It'll blow over. I know that's not really helpful, but it's true. It _will_ blow over. Everyone will lose interest and they'll leave you alone."

"I fucking knew this would happen," I admit quietly. "That's why I never told anyone."

"People can be assholes," Token sympathizes, "and the people in small towns are so much worse. They've got that small town mentality."

"It's bullshit," I mutter. I feel myself getting overemotional again, so I take a calm breath and close my eyes.

"I'm sorry," Token says sincerely. "If I ever hear anyone talking shit I'll call them out."

"Thanks," I respond, feeling drained.

"Want me to say something to Clyde?" he offers.

"Don't bother," I say.

The bell rings to indicate the end of lunch, and Token tells me he needs to go by his locker before class and that he'll meet me there. Walking down the hall, I bump into Kenny, who's holding onto that ratty-ass copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ like it's his own newborn son.

"Hey, Tucker, how you holding up?" he asks me cheerfully and I roll my eyes. When I don't respond he scowls and tacks on, "You like the book?"

"What? That book?" I ask, pointing to the copy he's holding.

"Yeah!" He holds it up, almost losing several loose pages.

"No," I say, turning up my nose. "It's just a couple hundred pages abut a whiny kid."

"Dude! But that's what so great about it!" Kenny laughs. "It's about us!"

I blink. "Seriously Kenny?"

"Yeah!" he says insistently. "It's an entire book about how we don't know what the fuck we're doing! Holden gives everyone the bird and thinks he's cool for acting like he doesn't give a fuck—but everyone but him knows that he has no fucking clue what's going on. I'm honestly surprised you don't relate more."

"Ugh," I groan. This is the last thing I have time for. "I'm not like that little bitch," I add.

"Yeah, dude, you are," Kenny says surely. He snorts back a laugh and says, "I bet I'm not the only one who thinks it."

I roll my eyes. "Fuck off."

He raises an eyebrow. "See?"

I look at him with distaste. "Whatever," I say with finality before strolling to English class. Kenny tags behind me and I end up having to sit with him because Clyde has already claimed the seat beside Token.

Kenny talks to me the entire fucking time. The teachers tries to tell him to shut up, but it doesn't really sink in. I don't think he's really capable of shutting up. He probably talks to anyone he's sitting with, regardless of who they are. He's kind of like that. He's everyone's friend. He's even friends with some of the loser kids no one else likes. He's too damn friendly. He smiles too much. I don't get it. I don't get how someone can be like that.

Despite his constant chatter, Kenny seems to be able to keep up with the teacher is saying. I can't tell if he's always like this, or if he just really fucking liked that book. By the end of class, he's even answered some of the teacher's questions, which I can't even remember the last time I did.

After the teacher lets us out, he follows me, still chattering incessantly until we reach my locker, where he sees the scribbled out letters that are still vaguely legible.

"Fuck," he whispers, looking at me sadly. "I'm sorry, man."

At least he's done comparing me to Holden fucking Caulfield.

"I couldn't get rid of it," I tell him, entering my combination and popping open the door. "I did the next best thing."

"I wonder who did it," he says, trying to inspect what's still visible of the handwriting.

"Probably Jason." I shrug.

"What a douche."

"I know." I slam my locker closed. "He's mostly harmless though."

Kenny stares at me, quiet for the first time in hours.

"Look," I start awkwardly, "I was wondering how you got people to leave you alone. I mean, if you've slept with guys and stuff."

He gives me a goofy smile in return. "It just never really bothered me. This kind of bullshit gets old for everyone fast if you don't care."

"Huh…" I say mostly to myself. "I guess I never thought about it that way."

We exit the school together, making our way towards the buses. I haven't taken the bus in a while, but I guess I can't keep avoiding it forever. Why try to prevent the inevitable?

Kenny starts chattering again, laughing and smiling as he talks.

"You smile too much," I tell him before I can stop myself.

He laughs some more. "How can someone smile too much?" he wonders. "You don't smile enough!"

I guess he's right.

And he looks nice when he smiles. I stare at him for a moment, almost like I'm analyzing him. He lets me do it, not saying anything. He has blue eyes that mirror my own. He has a lot of freckles, more than any other kid around here. He's probably an inch taller than me and about as thin. His skin is a lot darker than my pasty complexion and he has this crazy, wild blond hair. On top of his appearance, he's extremely extroverted. I'm the complete opposite – a socially challenged introvert.

I guess I can see why he gets laid so much.

After a minute, Kenny starts wiggling his eyebrows at me. I just glance away and this is when I spot Cartman sauntering towards me.

Fuck.

"Hey, faggot! Get my message?"

"You were the one who wrote that?" I ask, irritated.

"Of course I was!" he sneers, "Everyone else in the school is too much of a goddamn pussy to call it how it is."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, the rest of the lockers in the school are trashed anyway, you just made mine blend in."

Cartman shoves his hands down into his coat pockets. "Your boyfriend didn't take it so well. I saw that big cast on his arm. Did you two get into a little squabble?"

"Clyde's not gay," I reiterate, "And for the record that cast is own damn fault."

"Oh, so, are you saying you were rejected? That must have been so hard for you," Cartman says teasingly. "Even your faggy little boyfriend doesn't want you."

"Fuck off." I try to push past him, but he grabs my arm and pulls me around. "Don't touch me!" I shout, yanking myself out of his grip.

Cartman grabs a fistful of my hair and says, "Don't run away when I'm trying to talk to you, little cocksucker."

"Eric," Kenny cuts in, shaking his head at his evil friend. "Stop."

"What?" Cartman snorts.

"Stop being an asshole," Kenny reiterates tersely.

Cartman rolls his eyes. Before he can get another word in, I kick him in the shin as hard as I can and he lets go of me, immediately doubling over and screaming, "FUCK!"

I can't help but laugh, staring down at him and admiring my work.

Soon, the bus pulls into the school parking lot.

I step over him and board alongside Kenny. I take the window seat in the back and he sits down next to me. "Why is he such a fucking piece of shit?" I pry.

"He's probably just trying to overcompensate for the time he put Butters' dick in his mouth," Kenny snorts.

I raise an eyebrow. "What…?"

"We were kids," Kenny continues, laughing at the memory, "but it still happened and I guess he just hopes we'll forget about. Not gonna happen, though. He made such a huge deal out of it when we were kids and he's making a huge deal out of it now every damn time he does something homophobic and shitty."

"Why doesn't he go after you, then?" I ask.

Kenny shrugs and says, "Because he knows I wouldn't react. You, on the other hand, _always_ react. He gets off on that."

"How am I supposed to just ignore it when he's saying shit like that about Clyde?"

"Clyde can look out for himself, at least for now. It's not like he's doing you any favors."

I'm not entirely sure what to say to that. He's not wrong.

"Hey," Kenny says suddenly as we board the bus, "D'you want to come over?"

I'm slightly taken aback by the sudden proposition. "Uh, sure?"

Not long after we sit down, Cartman boards the bus after us, looking bitter and pissed. He takes the entire seat in front of us, but doesn't say a word. I can tell he's listening in on our conversation, so Kenny and I keep things light, bonding over our shitty grades on our last essay in English.

"I thought you loved the book though?" I ask, confused.

"Yeah, well I did, but that doesn't mean I know how to write jack shit about it!" Kenny laughs.  
After not too long, we pass the stop where I normally get off and continue into the outskirts of the town.

"Here we are," Kenny says, standing up and gathering his belongings, before handing me my bag off of the floor.

We exit the bus and walk for a few minutes until we're standing in front of the shittiest house in town.

"This is your house?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he says. "Um… actually we don't have to stay if you don't want to. I just want to drop my backpack off, and then we can get coffee or whatever."

I shrug. "Doesn't matter to me."

So, we walk inside. As soon as Kenny opens the front door we can hear his parents arguing. He ignores them and I follow him upstairs. It smells like cigarette smoke. The house's interior is as worn down as its exterior. The paint is peeling, the carpet is stained, the railings are splintered. The stairs creek with each step we take.

His bedroom is small and messy. His bed is a simply mattress on the floor with a bunch of thin, layered blankets and a flat pillow. There's an old laptop plugged into the wall next to a few large stacks of torn up paperback novels. He doesn't have a lot of material belongings.

I knew he was poor, but I didn't think he was this poor.

Kenny digs his wallet out, putting it in his pocket before dropping his backpack. "Coffee?" he asks, turning my way.

"Sure," I respond.

I think he's uncomfortable, which I can't help but find strange. Usually he's so confident. I guess even Kenny McCormick has some insecurities.

South Park is small, so it doesn't take us long to make our way back onto the main street. Tweek works at his parents' shop, so the kids from school tend to go there since he knows all the specials.

We walk in the glass doors of Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse and up to the counter.

"Black coffee, please," I say to the girl behind the counter, and glance over at Kenny, "And, uh—"

"Oh, I'll have a black coffee too!" he chimes in. "But leave room for cream, please!" Kenny smiles at me as we sit down with our drinks. "That was nice of you to pay for me."

"It's no problem." I nod.

"I'm sorry—" He says suddenly, "About my house, you know? Sometimes I forget it's such a mess. I usually only have Kyle or Stan over and they already know what to expect. Whenever I invite new people over I have to remember that they might not be used to seeing that."

"It's okay," I assure him, "I didn't mind."

"I would be alright with it even if you did mind," he says somewhat shyly.

I don't want to keep having this conversation with Kenny feeling weird, so I change the subject.  
"If—uh—you don't mind me asking, how long did it take for all the shit about you being with a guy to die down?"

Kenny looks a little surprised, but lets out a little laugh. "Probably a couple weeks. Not very long, but I cared a lot less about it than you and Clyde seem to."

I nod my head slowly. "So, uh… If you don't mind me asking, what made you realize you were into guys or whatever?"

"Well, I didn't know," he says simply, "So, I thought I'd try. I crashed a party in Cherry Creek with Kyle, Stan and Eric a few years back… Anyway, I met a guy there and I let him stick his dick in me."

"That's sudden," I add.

"I guess I'm easy," Kenny laughs.

I soften. "That's not what I meant."

He waves a dismissive hand. "Eric ended up walking in on us, but neither of us really noticed. He kindly informed me in the morning… Anyway, the guy was kind of a dick afterward, but I didn't let myself feel too bad about it because that shit happens all the time. It didn't change the fact that I still enjoyed it at the time."

"That still sucks," I murmur. "People can be so shitty…"

"Yeah," he laughs some more, "but it's okay. I don't let it bug me!"

"How?" I wonder.

He shrugs and then says, "I just try to focus on myself. I mean, I know who I am, so what they think about me doesn't matter."

"Most people love you, though," I say.

"Maybe," he considers. "Then again, probably not. I think they just tolerate me. I can get pretty annoying, y'know? To be honest… I'm pretty hungry for attention. I don't get much at home." He pauses and laughs at his plight before adding, "I think people know by now that they can't really bother me. They've tried hard in the past. They want a reaction and I don't give them one. It's easier to just leave me to myself. If you act bored with them, then they'll stop because that isn't what they're looking for. They want to rile you up."

"I don't like letting people shit talk me," I say.

"It doesn't matter what they think, though," Kenny reiterates pointedly. "You need to realize that."

I press my lips together, "And that just works?"

"Always has for me," says Kenny, waggling his eyebrows.

For a moment, I say nothing, and sip quietly at my coffee. I wonder how much of Kenny's method is of people actually leaving him alone and how much is him just not noticing?

"Well," he slaps his hands against his thighs suddenly, "It's getting late so I should probably head home. My sister probably needs help on her homework and there's no way Kevin's going to be a part of that."

"Sure." I shrug, leaning forward and getting up from the booth. "Thanks for hanging out."

"My pleasure." He winks.

I pick up my cup of coffee and toss the rest in the trash, it's lukewarm by now anyway, and then turn to wave goodbye to Kenny, who's already halfway out the door.

"See you tomorrow."

"Definitely." Kenny turns around, flashing me a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks for the coffee date."

Date?

Nonetheless I hold up a hand, waving him off before continuing home.

The walk doesn't take long and once I'm strolling through the front door my parents are ready to play twenty questions. Per usual.

"School ended a while ago, where were you?" Mom asks.

"I went to get coffee," I say.

"Who with?" Dad chimes in.

"Kenny."

They glance at each other. "Stuart's kid?" Mom asks, frowning.

"Yes," I say.

"Be careful around that boy," Dad warns. "His parents sell drugs. They probably do 'em, too."

"Those are just rumours," I point out.

Then again, maybe they're not just rumours. I don't really know enough about Kenny. He didn't seem keen on talking about his home life. I don't really blame him for that. People tend to be quick to judge. My parents are like that, but I know it's just because they want me to stay safe.

"Kenny's nice," I explain, "Everyone at school's been a huge asshole lately."

"Right," Mom says, wringing her hands, "Ruby might have mentioned something about that.

"Figures." I roll my eyes.

"What? That's the first I'm hearing any of this." Dad looks confused and a little frustrated. My mom reaches over and puts her hand on his shoulder.

"I, uh—" I stare awkwardly at them both as they look me up and down, "It's nothing really. I just go to school with a bunch of pieces of redneck trash."

My dad looks irritated at my choice of language, but before he can get a word in edgewise my mom cuts him off.

"I heard you and Clyde were having problems. I ran into Roger at the grocery store last night and he told me that he had just taken Clyde to Hell's Pass to get his hand checked out because he had punched the wall after some sort of fight with you."

I cross my arms, and look back at my mother reluctantly. "Yeah, we're in a fight."

"Oh, you boys will patch it up," Mom says surely. "You always do."

Ever the fuckin' optimist. Well, this time I'm not so sure.

"It's different this time," I murmur. "I mean… we've fought about dumb shit before, but this isn't dumb. This is different."

"Well… what is it?" she pries cautiously.

"We had… a disagreement," I explain vaguely.

They aren't satisfied. "What about?" Mom asks, getting impatient.

"Yeah, spit it out, son," Dad adds.

They're both staring at me and I feel trapped. I don't want to tell them I fucking kissed him. I don't want to tell them I have a crush on my best friend. I don't want to tell them all the embarrassing things. I just…

"I… I'm…" My voice cracks and grows weak. Fucking breathe, Craig. "I'm… gay," I murmur, staring down at the floor and as far away from them as possible. The words were hard to get out – too hard. It's the first time I've said it out loud like this.

"Oh," My mom brings her hand up over her mouth, "I, um, I actually thought that might be the case."

"What?" My father says incredulously, his eyes flickering back and forth between me and my mother, "Are you sure?"

"Oh, Thomas." My mom rolls her eyes, clearly irritated.

"Well—I mean of course that's okay!" he says, wide eyed and flustered by my mother's response. "Of course I'm alright with that Craig! I just—I'm surprised is all! And I mean, that's hard, really hard, so you should be sure. You're sure that you're sure?"

"Yes dad, I'm sure," I say, still avoiding eye contact.

"Does Clyde not like that you're gay?" my mom asks suddenly. "That would be so surprising. He never struck me as that type of person."

"Well," I continue softly, "It's not that by itself that he really has an issue with."

My mom nods knowingly, but my dad, doltish as always needs further clarification.

"I mean he doesn't like that the person I'm interested in is him."

"Oh, sweetie," Mom sympathizes, grabbing my face and hugging me.

"Clyde's never been the brightest bulb in the shed," Dad says. "He'll get over it."

I would laugh, but I still feel too shitty. "Maybe," I murmur, hoping he's right. I don't want to have to lose my best friend, but it's a very likely possibility at this right. He's the one turning it into something it's not. He's the one being a fucking asshole. "He spread some lies about me and now kids are giving me shit," I add.

"Tsk," my mom clicks her tongue, rubbing my back. "I knew something was wrong… You're a quiet boy, but you've been far too quiet lately."

"And angry," Dad pitches in.

I shrug as my mom finally lets me go. "I'm, like, really mad at him…"

"He'll come around," Mom promises me. "If he's a true friend, he'll come around. If not, then you don't want him in your life anyway."

"I guess so," I agree somewhat sadly.

"I'm about to make dinner," Mom smiles, "You pick. It sounds like you could use something going your way for once."

I force a chuckle, "Uh, pizza, I guess."

"That's always been your favorite."

I shrug. "It's an easy thing to like."

We head into the kitchen and my mom pulls a block of cheese from the fridge and I grab a grater from the cabinet next to the sink.

"You know," she says suddenly, "Clyde _will_ come around. I'm sure of it. You two have known each other forever, and just like there's nothing that could make me and your father stop caring about you, I'm positive that there's nothing that will keep Clyde away for very long. It's just an adjustment period. He needs to figure out his own feelings and when he finally does he'll be able to come back to you."

Hearing her say that is reassuring. I force a smile and say, "Yeah, maybe you're right."

She winks at me and says, "I know it."

While I grate the cheese my mom gets a bag of dough out of the fridge. She likes to cook and bake, so we always have lots of options. She kneads it in a pan and we start piling ingredients onto it. Dad pitches in and we all chat mindlessly about things that aren't so heavy.

Minutes later, Ruby steps into the kitchen. "Aw, are we having family time?" she coos.

"Care to join us?" Mom asks her.

"As long as we're not talking about anything mushy," she says, making a face and sticking out her tongue.

"Nothing mushy," Mom assures her.

I guess I've missed spending time like this. I feel like I've been too stressed out for it lately. I really need to learn to let things go, just like Kenny advised. Then maybe this will all get easier. Then maybe this will all blow over.

"How's your boyfriend doing?" Ruby whispers to me and I elbow her hard in the ribs.

I can tell my mom overheard because she gives Ruby a sharp look and Ruby shrugs.

"Put this in the oven," she says, handing the pizza pan to Ruby, "And stop bothering your brother so we can have a nice dinner together."


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, my mom gives us both a ride to school. I told her I didn't want to take the bus with Cartman and his friends, so she offered to drive us for the next couple weeks. It's generous of her, especially since it means she's late into work.

I end up a little bit early, and walking down the hallway run into Kenny, who's sticking a small white-board to my locker.

"Aw man," he says when he sees me coming towards him, "It was going to be a surprise."

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I picked this up from Wall-Mart last night on my way home," Kenny admits, "I thought it would be nicer than the word 'fag' written all across your locker. I was going to write a little note on it and make you guess who had hung it up."

I smile a small smile and say, "Thoughtful."

"You should smile more," he tells me. "You look nice when you do."

I don't really know what to say to that, so I just shrug, feeling sheepish and shy.

Kenny chuckles, probably gaging my reaction. "Not one for compliments?"

"More like I'm just not used to them," I confess.

"Aw," he coos. "Well, I'll be sure to compliment you lots, then." He winks at me and then moves aside, letting me into my locker. "Anyway, I have art class now, but I'll be sure to leave a message for you later on." With that, he waves and saunters down the hallway. I watch him for a minute, finding the whole situation strange – good, but strange. I'm not used to making friends. All of the friends I have are people I've been hanging around since I was five, pretty much.

Kenny is new and since he's new he's unpredictable. He's different than the kind of people I tend to surround myself with. He's more impulsive and spontaneous. Somehow, he's freer.

I grab my things and try to force myself into an academic mindset even though all I want to do is lie in my bed and sleep for a few more hours.

Math class is hellish. I'm no good at memorizing equations. At this point, we're allowed to pick our own classes, and I don't why the hell I chose to keep on with pre-calculus. Seemed like the obvious choice at the time.

Halfway through class, I decide I need a break. I grab the hall pass and excuse myself to the water fountain down the hall and around the corner. On my way there, I pass the art classroom and catch a glimpse of Kenny going at an old piece of wood with what looks like a can of spray paint. I wonder if he brought it from home, because I can't imagine that the school just supplies spray paint to whoever wants them.

I stop, peeking in the door for a second and hoping no one sees me. The class only consists of Kenny and a few other students, who are all wrapped up in their own work, so I go unspotted.  
What Kenny is working on actually impresses me. He's cut out several stencils of what look like the various layers of stripes, and when he pulls them back, I can tell he's been painting planets.

I guess he's an artist.

I can see it.

After a few minutes, I guess he senses someone staring at him because he glances my way. When he spots me, he smiles and waves me in. I hesitate before stepping into the classroom.

"The teacher won't mind," he tells me. "She's pretty chill. People who have free periods around the time come and go a lot, whether they're visiting friends or painting."

"Oh," I say. I sit with him and watch him work.

"I like art," he says out of the blue. "My friends called me a slacker for taking art class, but I actually put a lot of effort into what we do."

"I can tell," I say to him. "It's impressive."

He smiles yet again. "I'm glad you think so. Kyle, Stan, Eric… They don't really care much about art. Kyle is pretty science-oriented. Stan and Eric are more about the sports."

"Still, they should take an interest if it's something you're passionate about…" I say.

"I agree," he responds, "but it's okay."

"I wish there was something I was passionate about." I shrug, picking up one of the spray paint cans and fiddling with the nozzle.

Kenny gives me a cynical look. "You're not passionate about anything?"

"Not really."

"Huh," Kenny crosses his arms, "Well, what do you like?"

I shrug again, shaking my head. "I like my guinea pig, and bikes, but only in the spring and fall. The rest of the year is too hot or cold.

"Having something you like is pretty much the same as having a passion," Kenny offers, taking the spray paint from my hands.

"Right, but I don't have anything to show for it," I say as he adds another coat to his painting.

"Well, if you like art at all I'd be happy to show you what I know. People who aren't artistic are usually pretty impressed by even the simplest stuff, like what I'm doing now. It's actually really easy."

I nod my head and say, "Go for it, then."

"For a while I was into drawing normal stuff – people, sceneries, animals, so on…" he starts, shrugging. "As I got older I kind of pushed that stuff aside and got more into abstract art, stuff with shapes and patterns and shit. I feel like it's so much more interesting. It tells a different story to everyone who sees it. Not all art is like that, y'know? I mean, I don't think a lot of people tend to understand how complex abstract art really is. Some people just see stupid shapes and don't see the meaning behind it. They say it's lazy art, art with no thought… but they just don't see what the artist sees."

"Yeah," I say, somewhat understanding what he's talking about.

"Anyway…" he finishes, trailing off. He sets the spray cans aside and gets a fresh piece of paper, setting his work in progress aside. "So, I've got all these stencils of shapes… Mine are round because I was making the solar system, but I guess you can make whatever shapes you want…"

I listen to him talk, watching as he shows me how he works. He looks excited as he talks. He's smiling. It makes me wonder if anyone has ever listened to him like this before. Probably not.

After not too long, the bell rings and I realize that I never went back to class.

"I have to go," I tell him suddenly and he nods in response.

"Meet me later and I'll show you how to do the rest of it!" he calls after me as I wave goodbye.

Once I reach the math classroom, I notice Clyde waiting outside the door as students pour out into the hallway.

I walk past him without saying a word, and it becomes clear that he was waiting for me as he follows me into the classroom.

"Hey," he starts, "Can we talk?"

I begin picking my books and calculator up off the desk where I was sitting, shoving them into my backpack.

"No," I say firmly, spinning around to leave, but he doesn't move.

Clyde stares at me awkwardly for a moment, fidgeting with the strap on his bag. "Look, dude—"

"No," I say again, cutting him off, "I don't want to talk to you."

Clyde looks hurt, but moves out of my way.

"You're a fucking idiot for what you did to your hand," I add maliciously as I exit the classroom.

.

.

Later in the week things are the same. It's Friday and Clyde is still being a complete and total jackass. Kenny has been nice about it, letting me rant and vent to him. I feel bad for complaining. He's such a positive person, he probably doesn't want to hear all about my negative, whiney crap.

I get a detention after school for flipping off the teacher. When it's over, I grab my things and walk past a bunch of closed doors. When I walk past the art room, I see that it's still open. Instead of continuing down the hall and going home, I peek inside. Kenny is in there working on his painting. It looks like a very elaborate galaxy by now.

"Wow," I say, announcing my presence.

"Hey!" Kenny greets, waving my inside. "What are you still doing here?"

"Detention," I confess.

"Typical," he snorts.

"Hey, I haven't had detention in quite a while," I weakly defend myself.

He just laughs. I sit down next to him and watch as he paints. For a while, he's silent. "I come here after school sometimes," he says out of the blue. "I like when it's a little quiet."

"Want me to leave?" I ask.

"No, you can stay," he says. "I want you to."

I smile at him and say, "All right, then I'll stay."

He puts his supplies down and turns his head, staring at me.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Hey, can I try something?"

"Uh, okay…" I say hesitantly.

He stares at me for a brief moment, almost like he's trying to read me – read my thoughts and feelings. Then, slowly and tentatively, he leans forward. I know what's going to happen before it even happens. I close my eyes before our lips are even pressed together and when it happens my mouth falls open.

And it's different. It's different than it was with Clyde. Maybe it's because he isn't pushing me away.

When we part we simply stare at one another for a minute. I decide to break the silence. "Ha…" I laugh somewhat bitterly. "That's the first time I've kissed with someone who didn't push me away."

Kenny smiles sympathetically at that. "It's nicer, huh?"

"Yeah," I agree.

"I think I like you," Kenny says shyly.

"I think I might like you too," I respond, but I'm unsure.

He's right, it is nicer. Kenny is sweet and handsome in a boyish sort of way. He listens to me and knows how to turn my negative thoughts around in a way Clyde never could. But no matter which way I cut it, they're still not the lips I've been pining after.

"Do you want to go out?"

I pause. I don't know the answer to that question.

"You don't have to answer right now," Kenny adds. He must have noticed my hesitation.  
"Think on it."

I know I'm blushing, because I can feel my face all the way up to the tips of my ears getting hot. No one's ever asked me out before, and I'm certain Kenny must know. He's grinning like an idiot.

"I will," I say, "I'll decide this weekend."

"Okay!" He leans forward, planting another kiss on my cheek before turning around to pack up his paints.

I'm not entirely sure he knows what he's gotten into.

I'm not entirely sure what he's gotten into.

.

.

Around 7PM, I get a phone call from Kenny. He invites me to a party at Lola's. I'm hesitant to accept, but in the end I do.

He comes to get me and we walk over together around 8PM.

It's loud. You can hear the music from all the way down the street.

When we finally arrive, Kenny heads for the kitchen and makes himself a drink. "Want me to mix you anything?" he asks.

"Uh… no, thanks," I say. "I don't have a good track record with liquor."

He smiles at me piteously and then says, "All right, but if you change your mind lemme know. I'm pretty into mixing drinks. I like playing bartender." He makes his drink as he chats to me and then he takes a hefty swig. "I also like cooking," he continues. "I took Home Ec. Everyone made fun of me for it, but I loved it."

"That's what matters," I tell him.

I really wish I could see things the way he can.

With how much attention he's been paying to me, I'm flattered to say the least, but I haven't had much time to think over.

"Hey you two!" Bebe says as she enters the kitchen. She must have been here a while, because she's already holding a drink.

"Fancy seeing you here." Kenny tips his glass, and adds teasingly, "I didn't think you were much of a party goer."

"Well I'm not," Bebe replies, batting her eyelashes innocently, "I just spend all my night at home in my pajamas watched old Disney movies. No crazy nights out for me."

To be honest, I'm not interested in sitting around and watching Bebe chat up Kenny, so I leave the kitchen to wander Lola's house.

There's not really anything that Bebe did wrong, but I still feel a little bitter towards her. I know she and Clyde are going to end up back together. It's stupid for her to act like she wishes things had worked out for me. I know that if they had, it would be her in my awkward position.  
I sit on the stairway leading upstairs and light up a cigarette. It's the same pack from two weekends ago—I haven't been smoking much lately. I haven't really had time.

I inhale and then let out a slow breath.

All the boys love Bebe. Literally all of them. I can't deny that she's really pretty. Plus, she has big boobs and a big butt and all the guys seem to enjoy that.

I guess I should be glad a guy like Kenny is interested in me. He's desirable. I bet a lot of people would be interested in dating him.

I just need to figure out exactly how I feel about him.

"Craig!" I hear.

I turn around and see Clyde.

"Ugh," I mutter to myself, turning away from him.

"Craig!" he shouts my name again.

"What?" I snap.

He barrels down the stairs, almost stumbling as he sits down next to me. "I want to talk," he decides. He's slurring pretty bad.

"Well, I don't want to talk," I state.

He sighs loudly. "Please!"

"Hm… no," I say thoughtlessly.

"Please!" he repeats himself, shouting it this time.

"Christ, fine!" I snap, turning to face him. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I've been thinking about it," he starts.

"Think about what?" I grumble.

"About everything. About you." Clyde stares awkwardly down at his feet and as far away from me as possible. He's unbelievable.

"What about me? How you're going to keep being a dick? How it's okay for you to just keep spreading bullshit lies just to cover your own ass that didn't even fucking need to be covered?"

"No," he says sheepishly, fiddling with the cotton inside casing of cast on his hand. "I've been seeing you with Kenny."

"Yeah," I spit back, "Kenny's fucking nice. A lot nicer than you."

"I know," Clyde looks as though he might start crying, "I just—I don't want him to replace me."

"Replace you?" I question.

Clyde nods his head shakily, "I miss you man, I don't want to lose you. It feels so fucking weird to spend all this time not seeing you or talking to you. That's what I wanted to tell you the other day."

I still don't get where the fuck he's going with this.

"I'm not going to fucking replace you," I mutter. "I can't do that."

"Do you like him more?" Clyde asks, looking the very picture of insecurity.

"Kenny is completely different than you are," I say. "Though… right now, yeah, I might like him more than I like you."

Maybe it's mean to say it when Clyde is drunk and emotional, but I'm still pissed.

"Craig…" he murmurs my name, shifting closer. "Please… just…"

I let out a sigh, taking another long drag of my cigarette before ashing it on the floor. "All right," I start, blowing smoke in his face as I speak, "So, what exactly is this about, Clyde?"

In one swift movement, Clyde leans forward and kisses me. It's quick, but it happens. When we part, he stays close and our noses are nearly touching. I can smell alcohol on his breath.

"Hm…" I murmur to myself, standing up. "Why don't you do that again when you're sober."

"Wait!" He stands up after me, nearly falling down the stairs. "I mean it!"

"Stay here," I say in a frustrated tone, "I'll be right back."

I go to find Kenny. Not much time has passed so he's still in the kitchen with Bebe, mixing her another drink and waggling his eyebrows like he does at everyone.

"Hey," I put my hand on his shoulder, "I'm going to dip out I think."

"Aw, why?" he asks, jokingly pouting.

"To take Clyde's sorry, drunk ass home again. He said he wants to talk about some shit but it's not going to be happening tonight with how fucked up he is."

"Bummer." Kenny looks at me sadly. "Well, let us know when you get home safe! It's cold out there."

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling, "Of course."

When I get back to the stairs, Clyde is sitting with his head between his knees. He looks like he might be sick.

"Alright, boozy," I say sarcastically, "I'm going to take you home. But don't fucking worry, I won't try to stay this time and I'll make sure everyone knows we didn't bone just like you had the courtesy of doing last time."

He frowns at me, giving me a look that might be guilt, but I can't really tell because he still looks like he's ready to hurl.

I grab him by the arm and we make our way out after grabbing out coats and shoes. It's snowing. Again. Great.

Clyde keeps slipping on the ice and slush, but I try to hold him up. It's hard since he's bigger than me. "Can you at least try to walk?" I ask, getting impatient.

He just lets out a whine.

I can't even count the amount I've times I've had to do this. Clyde always overdoes it. Then again, I guess we have that in common. But unlike him, I can say no to liquor.

Luckily, it doesn't take us long to reach his house. I walk him to his door and grab the keys from him, unlocking it. We go inside and he starts moaning, "I feel sick…"

With a sigh, I walk him to the middle floor bathroom and he starts throwing up.

"Ugh…" I mutter, grimacing.

It's irritating as hell that he does this to himself. I think it's because he wants attention, but it's fucking nasty and I don't have the patience for him that I used to. I wait until he's finished vomiting, but I don't go anywhere near him. No rubbing his back or making sure he keeps his head out of the toilet. I'm fucking past that.

"M'okay." he says finally, pulling his head up and still looking like hell.

"Great," I bite, offer him my hand. He stands up and I help him up the stairs to his room. I can't fucking believe I'm doing this.

Once he's set up in bed, I turn to go home, but he murmurs quietly, "Wait, stay."

I want to scream at him. He's so fucking hot and cold I can never tell what the hell he wants from me.

"What do you want?" I sit down in a huff on the side of his bed.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "I don't want to lose you."

"Then stop acting like an asshole," I reply.

"Sorry…" he says again, sounding meek.

I close my eyes, trying to will away the anger I feel. I should be used to this by now. He always pulls people around with him until he realizes what the fuck he wants.

Still, I don't think what he wants is me…

He won't be able to say it when he's sober. He's just playing the sad drunk tonight.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks me. "Bad things? Bad things about me?"

"No," I murmur. "Not bad things, just… facts."

I feel him shift in bed. I turn and see him sitting him. He's staring at me. "I'm sorry…" he says again.

"Stop fucking apologizing," I say impatiently. "You'll wear out the word's use if you keep that up."

"Sorry," he mutters once more.

"Fucking hell," I whisper, standing up. "I'm leaving. Goodnight."

I don't listen for a response. I'm out of there fast. I debate on returning to the party, but I don't. Instead, I run home, trying not to slip on any icy patches.

.

.

The next morning I have a text message from Kenny asking if I made it home alright. I guess I forgot to message him. I reply quickly that I'm sorry if I worried him but that I had a lot of bullshit to deal with helping Clyde and that I got distracted.

I still need to give Kenny an answer, but everything seems to be getting in the way of me having time to mull it all over.

I also have a message from Clyde, saying thanks and that I left some things there last night, which I should come get later today if I have time. I don't remember bringing anything with me to Clyde's, but reluctantly I text him back saying I'll be by in a bit.

After throwing my clothing into the laundry hamper down the hall, I hop in the shower to wash all the disgusting, drunk Clyde sweat off from where he was leaning on me last night.

I'm so damn bitter.

Once I towel off, I dart across the hall and into my room. I get dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, since I'm not really in the mood to spiff up. I never am.

I grab my phone and then head downstairs.

"You're heading out again?" Mom asks.

I can't see my father. He's probably at work by now.

"Yeah, sorry, I'll be back in a bit," I murmur.

I put on my shoes and coat, making my way outside. I squint. It's bright out. The sun is reflecting off the snow and it's fucking blinding.

It takes me all of two minutes to reach his house. I knock on the door and then I just let myself in.

"CLYDE!" I shout.

He appears a moment later, looking like shit.

"Hung over?" I ask expectantly.

He just gives me a wry smile. "A bit."

"You shouldn't do that, you know," I tell him.

He shrugs. "I know. Sometimes I can't help it."

I just shake my head. "Then that's a problem," I point out. "Anyway, give me my shit and I'll head out."

Clyde glances down at the floor sheepishly, "I, um, I wanted to talk to you about last night."

I roll my eyes, "I know, you didn't mean any of it. You were drunk so don't worry, I didn't take what you said to heart."

"Well," he starts, "I actually—I did mean it. Everything."

I blink, staring back at him with wide eyes, "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" Clyde asks, shoulders slumped and leaning up against the wall, "I remember kissing you. I wanted to kiss you. I still do, even now that I'm sober."

"But we tried that, remember?" I sat, rubbing the nape of my neck, "You weren't into it."

"I know, but like," he knocks his cast against the doorframe, "I was really freaked out. It all happened too fast and I didn't have time to think about how I was feeling. I don't want to lose you."

I run my hands through my hair. This is fucking more that I bargained for.

"You keep saying that, but you're not going to if you stop acting like an asshole. I mean, come on, what the fuck did you do to your hand, man?" I ask, pointing at his fist that he's been treating like a plaster club.

"I freaked out," he says, tight-lipped. "You left and I got upset so I punched a hole in the wall in the bedroom. As soon as I did it I thought, 'I'm a fucking idiot, why did I think that was a good idea?' My hand didn't really hurt at first, I think I was too mad, but by the time my dad came home it was all swollen and fucked up so he took me to Hell's Pass."

"Shit," is all I muster up.

"Yeah," Clyde murmurs.

"Well…um…" I pause and shrug. "What now?"

"We can have a do-over," he suggests. "I'd take you out or something, but I feel like shit right now, so it wouldn't be fun."

I force a laugh. "Ah, yeah, that's fine…"

He softens, staring at me. "So, what do you say? Wanna be mine or whatever?"

I stare at him in return, gaging his reaction. Is this what I want? It feels weird after piing at him for so long, after all the drama at school… Now this happens. I almost don't know what to say.

"All right," I finally respond.

He steps closer. "I'd say let's seal the deal, but my breath is probably pretty nasty right now."

I smile wearily at him. "That's fine, I don't mind."

He smiles back and then leans forward, pecking me on the lips. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," I agree decidedly.

I let myself out after that. What a fucking weird turn of events. Somehow, it doesn't feel quite real. I feel like I'm going to wake up any second and realize it was just a dream. But it's not. It's real. That really just happened.

As I unlock my front door, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. It's Kenny.

Fuck, Kenny.

I unlock my screen and tap him a quick message, saying that I want to meet up for coffee. He replies so fast it makes me feel guilty, but I don't know to say. I've liked Clyde for years, and Kenny and I have only been hanging out a few weeks. He'll have to understand.

12:07 PM Kenny McCormick: Sure, when?

Kenny's an easy-going guy, and it's not like I fucked him and ran like that other guy he mentioned. He knew I liked Clyde—he knows I still like Clyde. I was honest and told him I had to think about going out with him. The answer is no and that's fine, because I'm going to date Clyde instead.

Jesus, I'm going to date Clyde instead.

I've been thinking about the different ways this could play out in my head for so long, I'm scared it won't turn out how I expect.

I tell Kenny now and then I make my way to the café. I take a seat and don't bother ordering a drink. I'm not really in the mood for coffee or lattes. I'm trying not to feel guilty.

Soon enough, I see Kenny walk in. He's wearing the same clothes he was wearing last night. He either crashed as soon as he got home or he didn't go home at all last night.

I wave when he spots me. "Hey," he says, taking the seat across from me. "What's up? Want me to get you a drink?"

"Oh, no… that's fine," I say. "Um, I wanted to talk to you about something…"

He tilts his head to the side. "What is it? Did something happen?"

"Yeah, kind of…" I admit. I take a breath and start with, "All right, you know how I took Clyde home last night because he got really drunk?"

Kenny nods his head.

"Well, he said some stuff… before then…" I continue. "I didn't really believe him, but –"

"What stuff?" Kenny cuts me off.

"He said he wants to… be with me," I murmur.

Kenny is frowning by now, nonetheless he nods, silently telling me to continue speaking.

"I thought it was just desperate, drunken ramblings…" I admit, "So, I pushed it aside… I told him that if he really wanted that then he should say it sober… I didn't expect him to, but he did."

"So… you're with him now?" Kenny asks. He looks sad and it makes me feel bad.

"Yeah," I say quietly, fidgeting with my hands on the tabletop.

"Does he know that I asked you out?"

I shake my head.

"Well," he forces a laugh, "Even so, we probably shouldn't hang out like this really. Clyde probably wouldn't like it."

I shrug. "We're friends."

"Are you okay with being friends?" Kenny asks. He sounds surprised.

"Of course," I reply. "You're really the only person who made me feel better when everything else was going to shit, so, I think that makes us friends. Y'know, as long as you're into it."

Kenny smiles meekly, "I'd like that."

I rub my hands together nervously. This is making me feel like shit. "I, um— I hope you understand… why I have to try to make this work between me and Clyde, you know? I've liked him for so long and I know I'd really kick myself later if I just blew him off."

"I understand," Kenny nods, "I want you to try with him. I'm just surprised is all."

"Me, too," I admit.

"So, I guess that's that," Kenny says with finality. He stands up afterward and then adds, "I'm going to go. I have some stuff to do for my parents."

Maybe he's lying. I don't bother prying. I simply accept it and wave him off. I wait a few minutes before leaving the café.

I'll get over it. So will Kenny.

I make my way back home. My mom is in the kitchen baking when I return. It smells sweet. "Hey, honey," she greets me, poking her head out as I kick off my boots and hang up my coat.

"Hey," I respond, moving into the kitchen with her.

"What's got you down?" she asks.

"That obvious?" I snort.

She smiles piteously and admits, "A little."

"Uh… Well, Clyde asked me out," I tell her.

"Oh, wow!" she exclaims. "That's good news, isn't it?"

"I don't know…" I murmur. "I guess it is, but I don't feel as happy about it as I thought I would."

"Maybe you just need some time to adjust," she suggests. "Sometimes things take a little time to get used to."

"Kenny liked me," I admit. "He asked me out Friday after school."

"Oh," she says, sounding concerned, "Well, I suppose that's why he was hanging around you after the whole fiasco with Clyde. You're a good looking boy and there probably aren't too many other people around here who are gay or willing to openly date another man."

I shrug. "I guess. I think I hurt his feelings by deciding to go out with Clyde, since he was helping me through Clyde being such a dick. He told me that he understands and that he'd like to still be friends."

"He'll find someone else, don't worry, just focus on you," she assures me.

"He's not gay though and a lot of girls like him," I add. "I don't understand why he would want to risk it and date me when he could just date one of the pretty girls from our school. I'm sure even Bebe would go for him and she's picky."

"Well, you don't get to decide who you end up liking." My mom smiles. "That's why you're dating Clyde and why Kenny will have to date someone else."

"I guess so," I murmur. "It's weird… when I was fighting with Clyde, I didn't think I'd be put in the middle of something like this. I wanted to be liked by someone… and then this happened."

She ruffles my hair. "Just go with your gut. Everything will turn out for the best."

I force a smile. "Yeah."


	6. Chapter 6

The following day, Clyde texts me and says he's going to swing by in an hour. I glance at the clock and see that it's 3PM. I don't really know what we'll end up doing, but I should probably get dressed.

I take a quick shower and put on a t-shirt and jeans. I fucking hate jeans.

When the doorbell rings, my mom answers it. I hear her talking to Clyde downstairs. I inch a little closer, listening to what they're saying.

"It's good to see that you and Craig are no longer fighting," I hear my mom say.

I roll my eyes at that. I'll fuckin' say.

I come the rest of the way down the stairs and when Clyde sees me he goes pink in the face. It's good to see him being the flustered one for once.

"I thought we could go for a drive," he says quietly to me as my mom leaves us alone, "Then maybe dinner and a movie? I'm not sure what's playing."

"Can you drive with that big hunk of plaster on your hand?" I ask sarcastically.

"Yes," he huffs, "I can still drive."

I throw my outer coat on and stuff my wallet and phone into the pocket. Clyde borrowed his dad's old High Lander, equipped for all sorts of weather. Lucky, because it's been snowing all morning.

"Where to?" he asks me as he puts the car in gear.

"Um—" I lean back into the seat, "I mean, it's going to get dark soon. Let's just drive to the next town over and try a new restaurant. I've had all the ones here a million times."

Clyde looks a little shut down, but nods, backing out of the driveway.

As we drive, we're quiet. I want to reach over and put my hand on his thigh, but somehow, it feels inappropriate.

He's my new boyfriend. It shouldn't be this hard.

Maybe it's the transition. I'm not really sure how to make it. How does one go from best friends to boyfriends? Will it come naturally or will I have to work on it? We'll see, I guess.

I play with the radio for a few minutes until settling on some channel playing Radiohead. I like that band and I know Clyde isn't picky when it comes to music. He likes all kinds from Nicki Minaj to Fleetwood Mac.

Clyde ends up driving to North Park. I haven't been here in a while. I think the last time I was here was for some organized sports game back in elementary. I was never into sports. I was never really into much of anything, but my parents tried. I think they wanted me to get socialized. I was always kind of shy. Sports were never my thing. Sports were always Clyde's thing. He's good at them.

"What do you feel like eating?" Clyde asks out of the blue.

"Um, whatever you feel like," I say. I'm indecisive. He knows that. That's why he usually makes the plans.

"Mmmm—there's a burger place up here that I really like. They do sort of unique additions, like blue cheese."

"That sounds fine," I shrug, "I like whatever."

When we reach the restaurant, it's overflowing with people.

"We might not be able to get a table," I say, looking out the window as we park.

"We'll see, some people might be on their way out," Clyde assures me, turning the key in the ignition and unbuckling.

Sure enough, we find a seat after waiting a few minutes. The service style is the kind where you wait in line and order up at the register and then they bring the food to your table.

While we wait, I try something. I slide my feet next to his underneath the table. Subtle, but a good start.

Clyde doesn't seem to notice, so after a moment I tip my foot up against his leg.

"Do you want to eat in the car?" he asks suddenly.

"Uh—why?" I frown, "We just sat down."

"I know, but it's so crowded in here," Clyde says, giving me a one-sided shoulder shrug, "It might be more enjoyable for it to be just the two of us."

I narrow my eyes at him, leaning forward. "Is it because you don't want to be seen with me?" I whisper bitterly. "Are you embarrassed or something?"

"No!" he insists defensively. "No... It's nothing like that, Craig. Plus, you're the one that suggested we go out of town."

I guess that's true.

I lean back in my seat. "Sorry," I relent.

He smiles reassuringly. "It's fine, we'll stay," he says before adding, "Our food is coming."

I glance to the side and see a waiter coming our way with a tray in her hand.

"Looks good," I say.

"Smells better!" Clyde responds.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" the waiter asks.

Clyde glances at me and I simply shake my head. "No," he says, giving her a charming smile. "We're good, thanks."

When the waiter disappears, we eat quietly. Clyde adds a comment here or there. One of his bad habits is talking while his mouth is full. I don't really mind it, though.

After we finish, we don't linger. There's a long drive back to South Park, and with waiting for a table and eating combined, it's already 6:30. Clyde asks me if I still want to see a movie, but I tell him that I'm tired and there's school the next day. He nods in agreement and admits that he still has some history homework to finish up.

Halfway back home, I muster up the courage to wrap my fingers awkwardly around Clyde's casted hand that he's left leaning against his thigh. He wiggles his free fingers against my palm, and looks a little embarrassed.

"Is this okay—me holding your hand?" I ask. I guess I should have said something beforehand.

He nods, but doesn't say anything.

Progress. Only a little bit, but it's better than nothing.

This whole thing would be a lot easier if Clyde would stop being so fucking awkward.

It's making me feel insecure, but I don't want to tell him that and have him feel guilty or get defensive. Both are a likely possibility.

"When do you get the cast off?" I ask him.

"Three more weeks," he says. "I might still need something to keep my thumb in place, though. It got a little fucked up. It's kind of swollen and fat."

"Aw…" I sympathize.

"I need to learn how to, like, chill out…" he admits.

"Well, yeah," I agree tactlessly.

He gives me a quick glance, smiling slightly, so I guess he's not offended.

I stare out the window up at the moon. It's pretty dark out by now. I kind of like driving around at night. It's quiet, peaceful, serene…

Soon the snow will begin melting away. The year will be over. Summer will begin. I'll be finished another year of school. Soon I'll be done forever. It's weird to think about. I almost fear it – the future. I don't know what it holds.

When we finally pull up to my house, Clyde turns into my driveway. Both my parents are home, but they prefer parking on the street for whatever damn reason.

"Going out of town was fun," Clyde says, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, "We should do stuff like that more often."

"Dude—are you okay?" I ask as I watch him wring his hands in distress.

"Oh, yeah! I had a good time!" he insists, perking up, "Are—Are you okay?"

I look out the window at my house, "Yeah, I had a good time too."

For a moment, neither of us says anything. I don't know what Clyde's thinking but I'm not sure it can be good.

"Look," Clyde starts, "I know this is weird."

"It's not really—weird." I look back at him. It's hard to make out his expression in the dark.  
"Okay, not weird, but hard. Right? Making this transition from friends to boyfriends? But just because it's hard doesn't mean we can't do it."

He nods his head. "Yeah… Yeah, you're right. We're probably just overthinking things and making it more difficult than it needs to be."

"Probably," I agree with him.

"Anyway, goodnight," he says, leaning forward and pecking me on the lips.

"Bye," I say, getting out of the car. I hear him drive away as I open the front door.

Right away, I see my parents and Ruby in the living room.

"Hey, I'm home," I greet them.

"Welcome back," my dad says, staring at the television and looking more interested in the sports game than me. Typical. He's big into sports, just like all the dads around here. He probably wishes I was into them, too. God knows he tried to get me into them. It never took.

"How was your little date?" my mom asks, cooing as she turns to face me. There's a little smile on her face.

I roll my eyes at that. "My _little date_ was fine," I tell her.

"Good!" she cheers, "I told you everything would work out with you two! It just took a little time to warm up to the idea. Clyde always struck me as a pretty heterosexual boy so I'm sure this whole thing is just very new to him."

"Right," I say, sitting down at the end of the couch, "Well, we had a good time. We drove up to North Park and ate at this little burger joint that I guess Clyde had been to before."

"Burgers?" Ruby sneers. "I would expect something a little gayer."

"Shut up," I spit back, flipping her off over my shoulder.

"How did he even know about a restaurant all the way up there?" she asks, kicking my back lightly.

"I don't know," I shrug, "He probably took Bebe there or something when they were still together. Clyde is probably the type of guy to reuse date spots and Bebe would have liked that place."

"Are you a little jealous of her?" Ruby simpers. "Do you think Clyde will be thinking of her when he takes you to all those places?"

"God, shut _up_!" I snap at her. "Fucking hell…"

"Kids…" Dad warns hazily. "Don't fight."

Mom rolls her eyes at his weak ass attempt before adding, "Ruby, be nice to your brother."

She sticks her tongue out at me. I mirror her position, doing the same.

"So," my mom cuts in, "all in all, you had a good time?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Did he kiss you goodnight?" she asks.

"Uh, yeah…" I say somewhat hesitantly. It feels weird to talk about this stuff with my parents and sister.

"I know that sex education in the schools here is garbage," she adds. "I'll get you some pamphlets."

"What?" my dad cuts in.

Of course _that_ grabs his attention.

I just grimace. "Uh… don't worry, I know how to play it safe…"

"Eugh!" Ruby exclaims.

"Whatever, I have homework to do," I say, standing up.

"Don't stay up too late!" my mom calls after me as I climb the stairs up to my room.

.

.

The next morning, I ride the bus again. People might not know that Clyde and I are together yet, but it makes me feel more secure.

As soon as I board, I see Kenny sitting next to Kyle. He waves and I wave back, but there's nowhere to sit next to him so I just grab the first seat I see.

I wonder if things are going to be weird with Kenny. Probably, honestly. I'll do my best, but who knows if we'll actually stay friends.

Clyde isn't riding the bus lately, his dad usually gives him a ride to school a little early because the shoe shop he runs is just around the corner. Clyde just gets up and does his homework in the library before classes start since he usually procrastinates when he's at home.

The bus ride doesn't take long. I stare out the window the entire time and soon enough we're pulling into the school parking lot.

There's still ten minutes until classes start, so I grab my things from my locker quickly and head to the library to meet Clyde. When I spot him, he looks uncharacteristically studious.

"Hey," I say sitting across from him.

"Hey," he responds, lifting his head and smiling at me before looking back down.

"What are you working on?" I ask, inching closer to see what's on the papers.

"Math," he admits with a grimace. He takes the same course as me, but it's at a different time.

"Ah," I sympathize. "I'd offer help, but I suck at it."

I always try to do my math homework as soon as I can, otherwise I'll get stressed out like Clyde. He always puts it off for as long as possible because he hates it.

"Want to see my answers?" I offer him. "They might not be right, but…" I trail off and shrug.

"I should do it myself, shouldn't I?" he asks, frowning.

"You're running out of time," I point out. "Class starts in a few minutes."

"Ah, fuck it," he says. "Gimme your answers."

I give him a look of mild humour before opening my bag and handing him the sheet. He scribbles down my answers before handing me back my paper.

"Thanks," he adds.

"Sure," I respond.

With that, we both head to math class.

Today, we both sit next to Token, who smiles and raises his eyebrows.

"So, did you two finally figure out your shit?"

I expect Clyde to be forthcoming about our relationship, but he isn't.

"Yeah, we worked through it," Clyde responds, pulling out his calculator.

I blink.

"Good, I was sick of you both acting like assholes," Token laughs. "It was hard to juggle the two of you."

"I wasn't being an asshole," I say bitterly.

Token glances from me to Clyde awkwardly, "Well, no, you weren't. Sorry. I just meant the whole damn thing was a mess from the start. I'm just glad it's all figured out now."

Does Token already know? I look over at Clyde out of the corner of my eye. Maybe he already mentioned it.

"What'd you do this weekend?" Clyde asks, quickly changing the subject.

With the way Clyde's acting, I don't think he told Token, and if he hasn't told Token than he probably hasn't told anyone.

Is this a secret?

Fuck that. I don't want it to be a secret. It's not going to be a secret if I have anything to say about it. If Clyde is going to make this difficult I'm going to get the fuck out.

Class starts and I feel tense. I also feel restless, like I can't sit still. Math is so fucking boring. This is probably why I do so shitty.

Once we hand in our homework, I decide to grab the bathroom pass and go to take a piss. I take my sweet time. I stare at myself in the mirror as I'm washing my hands. I look sombre and it's bordering on anger – like usual. I always look grumpy… but I feel like I have a reason to be.

I know I don't have the greatest personality, but I get along with Clyde all right… Well, maybe not as of late. Nonetheless, he shouldn't be acting so fucking ashamed of me. I'm attractive enough.

When I'm finished, I wander around the halls for a while. I zone out a bit, dragging out each step.

I get back to class, a solid ten minutes wasted, and Clyde doesn't even look up as I sit down. I don't know why, but it pisses me off.

The bell finally rings and I feel like a fucking drone. Math always does this to me, especially first thing in the morning.

"I have to stop by my locker," Clyde says as we exit the classroom, "I'll see you at lunch."

At this point, I'm fucking seething, so I scowl and nod. Then without any warning, I lean in and kiss him on the cheek.

He visibly squirms away from me. I knew it, I fucking knew it.

If he wanted this be a secret he should have fucking told me. I don't know why he's so nervous about everyone knowing. People won't fuck with us if we just own up to it—just like Kenny said.

"Hey man—" Clyde reaches up and touches his cheek, "Let's, um, let's not do that here."

"Okay, no, fuck you!" I hiss at him, jabbing my finger into his chest. "You _are_ embarrassed!"

"No, I'm not!" he insists. "I'm just not into PDA!"

"I know that's a fucking lie!" I continue angrily. "When you were fucking around with Bebe, you guys were all about PDA! Now suddenly you hate it? No. You just don't want people to see that you're with me! Just admit that you're embarrassed of me!"

"I'm not embarrassed of you!" he tries.

I don't fucking believe him. Why is he still trying to justify himself?

"Yes, you are!" I shout. "I refuse to keep this a secret, Clyde. So, if that's what you want, then I don't want to be with you. I want someone who won't be fucking ashamed of me."

"I'm not ashamed!" Clyde defends himself. "God, Craig… What the fuck? I didn't think you were such high maintenance."

I feel my jaw drop. "What?" I deadpan.

"You heard me," he says, but he looks almost guilty, like he knows he said the worst thing possible.

With that, I turn and fucking storm down the hallway. High maintenance, my ass.

"Craig, hold on!" Clyde shouts after me, "I—fuck, I didn't mean that. Okay?"

"I just want a normal fucking relationship!" I shout back.

I know we're causing a scene, but I don't care. If he doesn't want to tell people I'll sure as hell make sure they can tell by our fights.

"Okay—Okay!" He grabs my shoulder, spinning me around, "You're right, okay?"

I take a deep breath and resist the urge to pull away.

"Fuck off," I hiss.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry," he says desperately, "I just—this is happening really fast and it's freaking me out. Especially after seeing how people treated you."

"They treated me that way because you fucking turned me into their victim!"

Clyde looks taken aback, and shifts his gaze to his feet. "I know. Look, I'm sorry. It doesn't have to be a secret. I want to do this right."

I take another deep breath, trying to calm myself. "Fine," I say evenly. "Then kiss me. Right here and right now in front of _all_ these people."

Clyde glances around at all the other kids in the hallway. They're pretending to mind their own business, but it's obvious that they're watching us. They're always fucking watching and waiting.

"Okay," Clyde says with finality. He cups my face in his hands and leans forward, placing an open-mouthed kiss on my lips. He does it once more, then twice and when we part, he's staring at me.

This will be all around the school by the end of the day. Everyone will know. I wonder if it'll make things better or worse. I hope it's the former, but something tells me it'll be the latter. Then again, maybe it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks. I should take a page out of Kenny's books and just… let it go.

"See?" I tell him. "Was that so fucking hard?"

"I don't want to keep upsetting you," he murmurs, letting his hands fall to my shoulders.

"Then don't," I say simply.

The kids in the hall are still staring us down, and Clyde glances around nervously, "I, um—I still need to go to my locker. I'll see you at lunch."

"Sure." I blink, still vaguely agitated. "See you later."

History is boring, as per usual, but Kenny sits with me and honestly I'm relieved to see him.

"How's it going?" he asks as me throws his books down on the desk next to mine.

"Fine," I say, glancing him up and down.

"You and Clyde?"

I nod. "We have some bullshit to work through."

"I figured." Kenny smiles haughtily, "Sounds like he's got some problems with your relationship going public."

"Shut up," I hiss, pretending to focus on the material in my textbook. "How the fuck did you hear about that so fast?"

"The school hears things," he whispers, teasingly cupping his hands over his ears.

"Seriously," I say, still refusing to look up at him.

He lets out a light chuckle, "Heidi told me on my way into class."

"Of course." I roll my eyes, "That bitch can't keep her mouth shut."

"Ouch!" Kenny exclaims, laughing.

"She is a bitch," I mutter.

"Well… she's pretty confrontational, that's for sure," Kenny says.

I can't help but roll my eyes. People like Kenny try to see the good in everyone, even when some people have such little good left in them…

"That's one way to put it," I respond.

"So, it's not everything it was cracked up to be?" he asks out of the blue. His tone isn't taunting anymore, it's more serious.

"I don't know," I admit, "it's just hard to adjust."

"Hm," Kenny muses. "Well, I sincerely hope things work out for you."

"Thanks," I mumble.

"But you know…" he adds, "it's not supposed to be difficult. Maybe it takes a little hard, but not too hard. If a relationship takes constant work and it's stressing you out, then maybe it's just not meant to be."

"Thanks for that," I grit out. It definitely doesn't make me feel any better…

Kenny shrugs, but doesn't say much past that. He seems to know when his commentary is not wanted.

.

.

The next time I see Clyde, he's hunched over at our usual lunch table looking irritable as hell.

"How was class?" I ask, as I sit down.

"Fine," he says shortly.

Token is also unusually quiet. He must have heard, but probably doesn't want to say anything. Unlike Kenny, he knows how to keep his mouth shut.

I shift uncomfortably, pulling a vegetable sandwich out of my bag.

"Everything…okay?" Token asks nervously.

"It's cool" Clyde bites, shaking up his bottle of juice. "Jason was just being a dick. Nothing fucking unusual."

"What'd he do?" I prod.

"I don't really want to fucking talk about it," he replies, and I shrug. If Clyde's going to be an ass about it then I really couldn't care less.

"Want me to say something to him?" Token is still walking on eggshells. "I can see what his deal is."

"Ugh, no—look," Clyde says, aggressively running his hands through his hair, "He just made a comment about Craig and I and it fucking sucked. He won't stop being a dick and I swear to god I'm going to lose my cool if he doesn't knock it off. He's probably the one who wrote that shit on my locker."

"That was Cartman," I add nonchalantly.

Clyde grits his teeth together. "Fucking shit-bag… I should kill him."

"Or maybe he'd sit on you if you tried and you'd suffocate," I say.

"He's pretty, uh, wide…" Token says with a nod.

"I could take him!" Clyde insists.

"Not with a cast, that's for sure," I deadpan. "You ought to be careful. I mean… Cartman is insane."

"You don't need to tell me," Clyde mutters, sneering at the simple mention of the racist toad. He shoots me a dirty look, and I shrug. He needs to chill the fuck out or he's going to get himself in trouble. "This doesn't bother you, like, at all?" he asks through curled lips, "That people are just being assholes?"

"It's fucking disgusting." I crinkle my nose. "But there's not much we can do about it and Kenny said that people only left him alone when he started ignoring them."

"What the hell does Kenny even have to worry about?" Clyde spits.

"Well, you know, people get down on him for lots of shit," I say cryptically, taking a bite of my sandwich.

I would probably be best to avoid disclosing all of Kenny's personal life, but Clyde is pissing me off and I just want him to let it go.

"People were saying that he was with a guy a while back. I try not to read too much into rumors but I honestly wouldn't put it past Kenny. People don't seem to bother him about it anymore though, maybe you should talk to him about—this mess," Token offers quietly.

"I have," I admit. "He told me to just stop reacting and it'd go away. He says that's what happened to him."

"Are you still talking to him?" Clyde asks.

"Yeah," I say. "We're friends."

"Since when?" he mutters.

"Since you started being a dick and he decided to be nice," I say flatly.

"Was he just trying to get into your pants?"

I roll my eyes at that. "No," I say, though it's somewhat of a lie. "He was just around when you weren't."

He looks sheepish and has no response to that. He knows he messed up.

"Okay, okay," Token cuts in before we start bickering again.

"So… what?" Clyde adds. "You're just going to try and ignore it?"

"Key word: try," I say simply.

"How?" he asks, sounding like he genuinely wants to know.

"I don't know," I admit. "Just… self-control… I guess."

And I know Clyde doesn't possess much of that.

"So—" Token says uncomfortably, "When did, you know, you two get together?"

"Like three days ago." Clyde says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "And the whole school already fucking knows."

"Well, yeah," Token mutters, "After that little display."

I can tell that Clyde is only a second away from blaming the entire incident in the hallway on me, but he refrains. Good.

"People should mind their own business," he spits out instead.

"What did Jason even say to you?" I ask.

Clyde grits his teeth, "The same shit he always says. He's so fucking lewd. I mean—Jesus Christ, I fucking can't even—he asked me if I wanted him to stick it up my ass! Like, why the fuck would he even ask me that? Of course I fucking don't! I don't understand why we were even friends with him before—how did we not see that's he's such a dick!?"

I snort at that. "He's always been a dick, Clyde, just not to us… Well, until recently. We never really gave him reasons to poke fun at us. I mean, now he thinks that this is reason enough to taunt us."

"Well, it's not," he seethes.

"I know," I agree.

"Craig is right, dude," Token cuts in, speaking to Clyde. "It might be worth it to just try and ignore it all. It's hard to do, I know, but it'd be for the best."

Clyde doesn't seem to like that idea. "So, what? I just let him make fun of me?"

"Better than making another scene," Token points out, shrugging.

Clyde huffs. "Fine," he mutters. "I'll try to stay calm next time he decides to be a sick freak."

Token claps Clyde on the shoulder.

"I can take Jason," Clyde says as an afterthought.

I roll my eyes yet again.

I wonder if he'll actually be able to refrain. We'll see, I guess.

.

.

The rest of the day goes fairly smoothly, for me at least. Clyde splits off from us after lunch, and has football practice after school, so I don't see him again.

People seem to be preying on him now, which feels weird to me because I'm literally a part of the relationship that everyone is targeting him for.

Honestly, I'm concerned. I mouth off but Clyde has always been more of the type to fight things out—clearly. I know he says that he'll try to keep him cool with Jason, but I'm not so sure that it will be possible.

The following day is the same. Clyde manages to keep his cool.

I meet up with him after school and we wait for the bus – smooth sailing until Jason decides to make some crude remarks.

"Aw," he coos at us. "You two lovebirds going home for a little backdoor action?"

"Don't be disgusting!" Clyde retorts.

It makes me want to roll my eyes.

Where the hell does he think this relationship will inevitably lead?

I put my hand on his shoulder, silently trying to tell him to calm down. Jason senses this and adds, "Yeah, Clyde, listen to your boy."

"Jason, fuck off," I say flatly.

He doesn't. He crosses his arms and stares at us both, like he's trying to figure something out. "So, who is the woman?" he asks suddenly.

Ugh!

"Neither of us," I deadpan, "hence why this is a gay relationship."

"I think you're the woman, Craig," he says accusingly.

 _Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him…_

I glance at Clyde. He is facing the other way, looking like he's watching for the bus and trying to drown out what Jason is saying.

I grit my teeth. He's getting to me, but I don't want to show him or give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

I take Clyde's arm and we move away from Jason.

"I'm gonna kill him," Clyde hisses.

"Sh," I hush him, rubbing his shoulder.

When the bus finally arrives he stomps on and we take a seat in the back. He crosses his arms, grimacing. He's looks so cranky it's almost funny.

"Chill out," I say.

"Rich coming from you," he retorts, hinting at how uptight I can be.

"Watch it," I murmur warningly.

"I don't fucking know how Kenny did it—dealing with people's crap," Clyde whines, clearly distressed. "I feel like every time someone looks at me sideways I want to punch their fucking face in. Football yesterday was brutal. Bill and Fosse were making jokes and laughing about us the entire fucking time! They weren't even fucking discreet! I swear to god next time I'm going to bury them—I don't care what the school has to say about that."

"You'll care when they arrest you for murdering the whole football team," I say jokingly.

"I don't understand why people are so fucking interested in what's going on in our lives." He crosses his arm, hunching down in the seat.

"People have mostly been leaving me alone lately," I admit. "Jason is really the only one who says anything, and it's mostly when you're with me."

"Why? Because you're so good at keeping your fucking cool? Why the hell would they go for me over you? I'm dating you for god's sake!" Clyde seethes.

"You being gay is new." I shrug. "Everyone's known about me for weeks—you made sure of that—so it's old news."

He has the grace to look a little guilty. "Yeah, sorry about all that," he mutters, shifting.

When all the kids board the bus, we pull out of the school parking lot.

"What's done is done," I say simply.

"What's done is done?" Clyde repeats in question.

"I just want to move on from all that shit," I explain.

"When did you get so damn humble?" he asks.

"I don't know," I admit.

"Kenny," he says suddenly and it's not a guess.

"Yeah, maybe," I confess. "He just kind of got me thinking."

"Hm," Clyde muses thoughtlessly before glancing out the window. I can tell the conversation is over because he wants it to be.

Is it bad that I want him to be jealous? Probably.

I just want some proof that he's actually interested in me because, quite frankly, I don't really feel it.

I end up asking Clyde if he wants to come to my house for dinner, but he says he has too much work to get done. I sense that what he really wants is to be alone, but he doesn't know how to say it.

When we get off the bus, we walk down our block together. At my house, I give him a quick and clean peck goodbye on the cheek—I can't imagine that he would want anything more with the bus of kids driving past us.

Surprisingly, he kisses me back before telling me that he'll call me later on in the night.

Walking up my front steps, I stomp the snow off on my boots before opening the door and tossing my backpack on the floor inside.

I wonder if Kenny saw. He was sitting towards the front of the bus with Kyle.

I wonder if Clyde wanted him to see.

When Clyde and Bebe were dating, he got really possessive towards the end. At parties, Clyde kept his hand hooked in her back pocket every chance he got. They had been dating for two years and it was time for them to break up. Bebe wouldn't stop flirting with other guys. It made Clyde insecure.

I don't know if what he's feeling here is insecurity.

My mom greets me, asking me how school was. I tell her it was fine and then I go upstairs, disappearing into my room.

I lock my door and I decide to jerk off since I haven't in a while. I touch my backside out of an unfamiliar curiosity. I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to have something inside. Truth be told, I've never really touched myself back there before… but maybe I should start. Maybe then it won't hurt the first time it really does happen.

I'm kind of scared of it hurting. I've heard stories about the first time hurting.

I push the thoughts aside for now and jerk off the way I usually do. When I'm done, I grab a tissue and then put on a pair of sweatpants before crossing the hall.

As I pass Ruby's bedroom she gags at me, almost like she knows what I was doing. I just give her a shit-eating grin in return before going to wash my hands.

After that's all said and done, I force myself to get started on some homework.

No amount of parallels drawn by Kenny between my and Holden's life could make me enjoy the read. To be honest, I'm pissed that we're still on this book. A month has passed since we started it and I'm sure the kids who were actually going to finish it are long done by now.

I would ask Clyde for help on the speech we're giving on the book, but he's even less likely to have finished than me. I wish I could call Kenny and ask him for a few pointers to get me going, but I know it would just be weird. Kenny would be uncomfortable and that would just make me feel like shit. On top of that, I'm sure Clyde would have something to say about him helping me.

I still feel bad about the way I turned down Kenny, and I'm sure Clyde can tell. Kenny doesn't really want to talk to me—maybe he _was_ just trying to get in my pants. I say we're friends, but it's awkward, and that's pretty obvious. Even someone as thick as Clyde could pick up on that.

I pick up the book and begin to leaf through it.

I don't want to give a speech. That kind of shit just gets my nerves going. I try to avoid courses where I know we'll have to do presentations, but I couldn't really avoid English. Everyone has to take English.

I have to try so fucking hard not to start shaking in front of the class when we have to present our ideas and shit. I wish I could learn how to chill out, but it's fucking true what people say about me. I'm so uptight. That probably won't ever change.

Around 7PM, my mom calls us downstairs to eat. I slump down the stairs and smell tacos. It makes me think of Clyde.

"Tacos?" Ruby asks, excited.

"Yeah, we can junk it again tonight," Mom says.


	7. Chapter 7

On Friday night, Clyde invites me over for a movie. As soon as I arrive, he pecks me on the lips and then cracks open a bottle of rum. It makes me feel somewhat conflicted since alcohol got us into this whole mess in the first place, but nonetheless, I let him make me a drink. He always makes them stiff. I cringe as I take the first sip and he laughs.

"Too strong?" he asks.

"S'fine," I tell him.

When we both have our glasses ready, we move into the basement.

"What do you feel like watching?" he questions, setting his drink down on the coffee table before moving towards the DVD rack.

"Whatever," I say, sitting on the sofa and taking another cringe-worthy sip.

" _Captain America_?" he asks, holding the DVD case towards me.

"Sure," I say.

Clyde likes those super hero movies. I've never been a fan of comics myself. This one is his favourite, though I've never seen it before.

So, he pops the DVD in and takes the seat next to me. The movie starts and he looks so into it. I kind of wish he'd put something stupid on since I mostly just want to talk to him. Nonetheless, I can wait until the movie is over.

Halfway through, he makes himself a second drink. I'm still on my first since it's so strong.

When he gets back he's all smiley. It makes me wonder if he took a few shots while he was upstairs.

"Are you already drunk?" I ask him.

"No," he insists, sounding mildly offended at the insinuation. "I'm just happy."

"Oh," I say. "Sorry."

As soon as the movie is finished, he puts in the sequel. I guess we won't be talking much tonight. I let out a whiney sigh and finish my drink, handing Clyde the glass.

"Another?" he asks me.

"Another," I say.

This night is probably gonna turn into a shit show. I've always been a lightweight and with the way Clyde mixes his drinks, it probably won't take long for me to get drunk. At least then maybe I'll be able to gather the courage to tell him I don't want to watch a movie. I just want to talk to him.

Clyde returns with my drink and it's just as stiff as the last. I drink it quicker than the last and by the time I'm done the room is spinning a bit.

"You good?" Clyde asks me.

"Mhm…" I mumble, putting the back of my hand against my forehead.

He frowns at me. "No, dude, you're not."

I let out a sigh. "Why'd we hafta drink t'night?" I ask, slurring each word.

"Wow, damn, you got pretty drunk pretty fast," he notes. He stands up and disappears, leaving me alone with the movie playing. When he returns for the third time, he hands me a glass of water. "Sip on it," he instructs.

So, I do and he continues to talk.

"I don't think it's a bad thing if we wanna have a drink together," he says.

"You drink too much," I mutter.

He shrugs and relents with, "Yeah, maybe."

"It's a problem," I add.

"Yeah, maybe," he says again.

I let out a whiney moan and ask, "Do you even like me? It doesn't feel like you do…"

"Yeah," he insists. "I like you."

"Think about it," I bite out. "Can you see yourself _fucking_ me?"

Clyde looks taken aback by the bluntness. "What…?"

I roll my eyes, slamming the half-empty glass of water down on the t able. "Can you picture yourself putting your dick in my ass?" I ask him crudely.

He winces. "Dude, don't talk like that…" he murmurs. "Do you need me to reassure you? I like you, okay? What else do you want me to say?"

"What do you like about me?" I ask. "How'd you figure out you liked me?"

"We've talked about some of this before," he reminds me.

"So say it again," I demand.

He lets out a long breath and I can feel it against my face. It smells like rum. A lot of rum. "I figured it out when I got jealous," he starts. "I like you because you're my best friend and I think the person you're with ought to become your best friend, y'know? We already know everything about each other – the good, the bad. There are no secrets. The transition should be easy."

"But it's not…" I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Why am I so insecure?" I murmur the question, mostly talking to myself.

Clyde just shrugs. He inches closer to me and puts an arm around me. "You're just drunk," he says simply.

"That's _not_ it!" I retort sharply.

"Craig, calm down," he says softly.

"I am calm."

He smiles at that.

"I am!" I nearly shout.

He pats my thigh with his other hand. "Just watch the movie. We can talk after." He picks up his drink and finishes it. I pick up the glass of water and continue to sip.

Clyde doesn't act like he's into me. He seems just as reluctant to kiss me in private as he was in the hallway the first day. No holding hands—nothing. He could just be shy, but somehow I doubt that. Dating Bebe freshman and sophomore year, their sex life was booming within the first two weeks, and Clyde told anyone who would listen. It would take a lot of convincing for me to believe that his hormones had cooled off that much in the time they'd been apart. The situation didn't finally clear up until Token snapped that he didn't want to hear details after him and his girlfriend broke up.

I shift uncomfortably and his hand stays firmly planted on my thigh. I want a little action, but I'm not going to get it sitting here so passively.

Slowly I lean over, placing my head on Clyde's shoulder. He relaxes into me, wrapping his arm behind my neck and running his fingers through my hair.

I want to kiss him.

I have to be able to do this if our relationship is going to go anywhere.

We have to break through the friend routine.

I twist up, pecking Clyde on his jawline. He turns to me, looking surprised, but says nothing so I don't stop. I kiss up his neck and cheek, before finally reaching his lips.

Clyde kisses me back lightly, but I want more than that.

I don't want to start complaining. He'd just tell me I'm being insecure again… and maybe I am, but it doesn't change what I want.

I let out a silent sigh and press my forehead against his shoulder.

Maybe he's just not in the mood?

So, for now, I relent. I turn my head, watching the movie as I lean against his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks me.

"Yes, Clyde, I'm fine," I respond dully.

I force myself to pay attention to the movie. We're at the part where Bucky falls off the train into the snowy abyss just after being rescued from the Nazis who were experimenting on him.

Sucks to suck.

"He's not actually dead," Clyde informs me a split second later, giddy to talk about his favourite movie. "He comes back in the next movie with a metal arm. He's not quite himself, though."

"Woah, spoiler alert!" I joke.

He just chuckles. I like the sound of it. It's a deep sound that comes from the pit of his throat like a slow, happy rumble.

I just smile to myself and I continue watching the screen.

.

.

On Monday I drag myself miserably out of bed and into the shower. I want to shave, but Ruby always steals my damn razors and uses them for her legs, so I have to live with patchy stubble for the day.

I'm not one to clean up for school—I never have been—but there's something about being Clyde's new date that makes me not want to give the school just another reason to shit on me.

I take the bus, sitting in the back alone because Kenny is nowhere to be found. He probably went with Stan this morning.

I haven't seen much of Kenny this past week, and I'm not sure if it's a coincidence or if he's avoiding me.

Honestly, it's probably better this way. Clyde can't be jealous and neither can Kenny.

I wonder if Kenny _is_ jealous.

I'm not sure why I should care, but it makes me a little uncomfortable to think he might be. I shouldn't have led him on the way I did, but I thought I liked him. I really did. Obviously I was just thirsty for Clyde the whole time.

I could have let him down more tactfully. He probably didn't need to know right away that I was turning him down for the person he'd just spent the last week comforting me about.

It makes me feel pretty fuckin' guilty. I guess that's justifiable because it was kind of a shitty thing to do… but I can't control the way I feel. Too bad. Sometimes I wish I could. I feel like things would be a lot easier that way. It'd save a lot of people from a lot of heartache.

Kenny deserves to be happy. Hopefully he'll find someone else – someone better, someone who won't disappoint him like I probably did.

I take my cellphone out of my pocket and check for any messages, emails, notifications.

Nothing.

I guess I'm unpopular today. Not that that's really anything new these days.

I decide to shoot Clyde a text nonetheless to see how he is and what his schedule is like today. Then I shove my phone back in my pocket.

Clyde can be kind of bad at texting – he'll either text me back right away or he won't answer for hours. It's either one of the other.

Today, I'm lucky. My phone buzzes not a minute later with a message from Clyde telling me to meet him in the library before class.

When I get to school, I head to my locker and shove my books into my bag before searching for my boyfriend. When I finally do find him, he's sitting at a desk scattered with pages of math homework and looking agitated.

"How's it going?" I ask, sitting down in the chair across from him.

"Horrible!" Clyde says exasperatedly, not even looking up from his calculator. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to finish this before class today!"

"When was this all assigned?" I push a few of the papers into the pile. "This looks like last week's work."

"It is!" His eyes snap up to me. "But I thought I understood what we were doing so I put it off!"

I roll my eyes. It's hard to feel bad for Clyde when he procrastinates like this.

"I'm just going to skip and finish it tonight," he says finally, tossing his pencil down onto the table. "Come with me and we'll hang out or something."

I debate on telling him no and helping him with homework, but I don't since I'm not really in the mood to listen to him complain about things he doesn't understand.

"All right," I relent.

He packs up his things, shoving all the papers into his book bag unceremoniously.

"You're going to mess everything up if you do that," I tell him.

"At this point, I honestly don't give a shit," he says flatly.

I can tell he's frustrated.

"Okay," I say, not bothering to reason with him. "Let's go blow off some steam then. What do you feel like doing?"

"I dunno," he mumbles.

We leave the library, walking out of the school. Once we're outside, I light a cigarette.

Clyde wrinkles his nose at me and I resist the urge to blow smoke in his face.

"So, come on," I say, "What do you feel like doing?"

"I don't know," he says, getting whiney. "You pick."

"Um…" I muse. "Did you drive to school today?"

"Yeah, sorry I didn't pick you up," he murmurs.

"That's fine," I tell him. "It's not why I asked. I was just going to suggest we go for a drive or something. I know you like driving around."

"Hm…" he considers. "All right."

"We can grab coffee or something," I add with a shrug.

He nods. "All right."

I finish my cigarette, tossing it into the ground and stepping on it as we walk around the school and towards the parking lot. I hop into the passenger's seat of Clyde's car while he gets in the driver's seat, starting the engine.

For coffee we'd normally go to Tweek Bros. but today we're headed to Harbucks. I don't want to risk the chance that Tweek's parents are working front counter today and decide that they have an issue with us skipping school.

Thank god Harbucks carries the basics, because I drink my coffee black, but Clyde has no problem finding the sweetest drink they'll make. Iced caramel macchiato. Of course.

"You'll rot your teeth with that first thing in the morning," I say, sipping on my own hot beverage.

"Don't be pretentious," Clyde bites back, "I deserve it."

"Right, because we're working so hard," I tease. I can tell Clyde is getting irritated, but I can't help it. He gets so worked up over school and it's hard to pass up an opportunity to push his buttons. He makes it too damn easy and I'm not mature enough to brush it off.

"Wanna sit in here or drive around some more?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "We can sit in here for a bit," he responds.

We sit in the corner behind a large potted plant. Naturally we have to be in the most secluded area possible.

"So, are you really just in a bad mood because of school?" I pry. "Or is there something else?"

"What else would there be?" he asks.

"I don't know, you tell me," I challenge.

He shrugs his shoulders lazily. "I'm fine. It's just school stuff that's stressing me out."

"Why do you always procrastinate?"

"I can't help it," he justifies.

I always do my homework on time. Clyde is always late. He never learns from it, either.

"You could try to find some time to do the homework every day, instead of just saving it all for the day it's due."

"Yeah but I'm busy." Clyde swirls the straw in his coffee, "Between sports and classes and you I don't have time for anything."

"Me?" My eyes narrow, "Don't even try to tell me that I'm the thing eating up all your homework time."

Clyde shrugs.

"Please," I spit out bitterly, "You always found time for school and sports and your date when Bebe was involved."

"Right." Clyde gives me an annoyed, hard blink, "And now I'm finding time for you, just like I did for her."

"Whatever," I mutter.

I want to laugh out loud, but I resist the urge. There's not really any way for him to understand how I'm feeling about this. Everything about his relationship with Bebe is different than his relationship with me, and it's not simply because I'm a guy.

"Craig, I've always been a procrastinator," he argues, "even when I was with Bebe."

"I said _whatever_!" I snap.

He stares at me, letting out a sharp, impatient breath. "Here you are being high maintenance as fuck again," he mutters.

I grit my teeth. I feel the corners of my eyes start to sting, but I really don't want to start getting all emotional when we're out in public. I glance to the side, trying to will myself to calm down. I let out a quiet breath and say, "I really fucking hate it when you say shit like that. It makes me feel like no one will possibly ever love me."

I hear him sigh and then he argues with, "That's not what I mean, though."

"Then what, pray tell, _do_ you mean?" I ask, turning to glance at him.

"I just mean… I'm impatient sometimes…" he says.

"And I'm troublesome?" I finish.

"You just… demand a lot of attention," he explains slowly.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my fucking head.

Is there truth to what he's saying?

Great, now he has me second guessing myself.

" _Relationships_ demand a lot of attention, Clyde," I point out. "So, don't try blaming this all on me."

"I'm just not used to this," he murmurs. "Bebe was carefree and so was my relationship with her…"

"Me and Bebe are two completely different people," I remind him. "We're probably complete polar opposites."

"I know," he relents. "It's just… a big change."

"Is it too big of a change for you to handle?" I spit.

"No," Clyde replies firmly. "Craig. I just need you to back off a little."

"Don't tell me to back off!" I hiss, kicking him hard under the table.

I want to scream. _Nobody_ talks to me that way.

"Ow! What the fuck Craig?"

Clyde gives me a stern but wounded look that would normally make me want to hurl myself out a fucking window, but not today.

"Don't fucking talk to me that way, asshole," I say through gritted teeth. "I'm not your dad trying to get you to do the fucking dishes and I'm not Jason or one of your football bros giving you a hard time, so don't tell me to back off. Ever."

"Okay. Jesus Christ, you could have just said that. You didn't have to fucking punt me."

"Didn't I?"

"No, man, you shouldn't fucking do that. It was really uncool."

I roll my eyes, but Clyde looks hurt so I mutter a shallow apology.

"Thank you," Clyde says shakily. Offhandedly, he adds, "Do you notice how much we've been fighting lately?"

"We always fight," I argue.

"But not like this," he responds. "We're like… _really_ fighting… and about the littlest things."

"Maybe it's not little to me," I point out.

He lets out an impatient sigh. "Here we go again."

I want to keep pushing him, but I don't. Instead, I remain quiet. I finish my drink and then I sit still, staring out the window.

"Am I gonna get the silent treatment now?" Clyde asks after a minute or two of silence.

"No," I say. "I'm not giving you the silent treatment. I just don't have anything to say."

"Want to leave, then?"

"I don't care."

"We can go back to school or whatever."

"I don't care."

"Want me to take you home?"

"Don't care."

He lets out a whiny groan. "Come on, Craig. Give me _something_."

I finally turn my head away from the window and to glance back at him. "Fine, let's leave."

So, the two of us get up and we leave the café. Piling back into Clyde's car, he fiddles with the radio before pulling out of the parking space.

"I really need you to work with me," he says quietly after pulling out of the lot. "I feel like I'm trying really hard to make this work. I'm stepping outside of a lot of my comfort zones and I don't really feel like you're pulling your weight."

I don't respond, choosing instead to focus all of my attention on a mud smudge my shoe left on the door when entering the car.

"Listen. I like you. I want you. I need you to stop being so insecure." Clyde eyes flitter between me and the road. "You never need to question whether or not I like you because you're my best friend. I'll always like you. I mean, maybe not if you pull stunts like that in the coffee shop, but assuming you knock it off we have a long relationship in front of us. So stop worrying, okay?"

"Fine," I say simply. My voice is short, as is my temper at the moment… but I can't deny that he is right. I'm being a fucking bitch. I just can't help it. I like him a lot, but this isn't how I thought it would be. I don't feel like he's pulling his weight as much as he thinks he is. But maybe I'm just overanalyzing everything. Maybe I'm just worrying too much. Maybe I'm just an idiot. Maybe I just suck at relationships. This is my first one, though… So, it's a learning process. Maybe Clyde sees it that way, too.

I'm completely inexperienced when it comes to kissing and relationships and even sex. Before any of this happened, I had all these ideas and elaborate fantasies in my head telling me what it would be like, but it's not really like that at all.

"Just fine?"

I let out a sigh. "I still can't help but feel like you're embarrassed by me half the time."

"I'm not," he promises, "and I'll try to prove it."

"All right," I agree.

Soon enough, we're back at school and pulling into the lot. Clyde parks his car and we both get out, heading back inside.

The bell hasn't rung yet because there are no kids in the hallways. I glance at Clyde and he glances back before grabbing my hand.

"Come on," he says.

His hand around mine feels reassuring, so I follow without hesitation.

"I have to stop by my locker." Clyde pulls me up to the north part of the school. I notice that the word "fag" is still plastered across the door as he fiddles with the combination lock. I guess he never did get around to asking the principle for a new one.

"Why don't you scribble that out?" I ask.

Clyde shrugs, "I don't want to get in trouble for doing more damage."

"Here," I say, taking out a sharpie, "I'll do it."

He steps back as I cover the words with thick, black ink. I do a better job than I did with my own locker. I figure it's more important.

"Thanks," Clyde says sheepishly. "That was really starting to bother me."

"I know." I put the cap back on the marker and stick it in my pocket. "You shouldn't have to look at something like that every day."

He nods his head, collecting his things from his locker and then turning to me. "I just don't know why people have to make it such a big fucking deal. It's none of their business what we do."

"Everyone loves to make everything their own business," I say simply. "That's how the world is."

Clyde wrinkles his nose. "It's fucking annoying. I don't know why people can't just fuck off and leave everyone alone."

"People are toads," I decide.

"Yeah," Clyde chuckles in agreement.

Soon enough, the bell does ring and we both head towards class. I don't bother bringing my books because I don't think I'll be taking any notes. Me and Clyde grab a seat in the back near Token and class begins.

.

.

After school, Clyde invites me over. Naturally, I accept. When we get to his house, we sit in his kitchen and do homework. My idea.

Before long, it's obvious that we'll be getting nowhere. Clyde is distracted. He gets up every two or three minutes to grab a handful of chips or pour himself some juice.

Since homework isn't happening anyway, I decide to give something a try.

"Hey, do you wanna—" I say, sliding my hand across the table onto his and tilting my eyes towards the staircase.

"What?" he asks cluelessly, setting his glass of lemonade down on the table.

I roll my eyes.

"Go upstairs and mess around!" I hiss, frustrated that he didn't get the hint.

"Oh." Clyde's eyes flit around the room warily. "Yeah, we could do that."

"Well do you want to or not?" I say, clearly annoyed, he doesn't sound excited, and I'm not taking a half-hearted _yes_.

"Yeah, I want to, let's do it," he says with a little more gusto this time and standing up from the kitchen chair.

We head upstairs to his room together and Clyde sits down on the bed.

"Come here." He beckons to me as I stand awkwardly in the doorway.

Once I'm settled in next to him, I start by giving him a light peck on the lips. This kissing stuff is still fucking uncomfortable as hell but I figure the only way to get better is to practice.

Still, he doesn't seem like he's that into it. I pull away and stare at him. "What the hell? Am I a bad kisser or something?"

I know I'm not experienced, but I thought I was doing okay at least. It's not really rocket science.

"No, nothing like that," Clyde insists. "I'm sorry if I seem distant and shit, I'm just stressed out."

Ah, the ever-present excuse. I guess he'd call me out on being a little bitch again, but he can't really do that when he seems so bored of kissing me.

"I'm offering myself up as a distraction," I state pointedly.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he leans forward again. We exchange a few sloppy open-mouthed kisses and he gently pushes me down against the mattress. He hovers over me and our lips are still fastened as his hands begin roaming up and down my chest.

Before I even realize what's happening, I moan into his mouth.

He pulls away immediately and stares at me, looking almost surprised at the sound I made… and it makes me feel fucking embarrassed. But before I can snap at him or cover my face, he's kissing me again.

Fuck. I never, in the past four years of liking him, thought I would ever make it this far with Clyde.

He's been such a walking no-homo for so long that I'm surprised he knows how to come within five feet of a dude, let alone kiss one.

He has kissed a lot of girls though, so I guess the skill translates.

I arch my back, grabbing his ass and grinding my hips against his. This time, Clyde lets out a soft moan, his hands briefly growing rigid around my face before kissing me even harder than before.

Fuck yes.

I know where this is going. I might by inexperienced but I'm not a fucking idiot. Maybe Clyde does actually like me. I was just being stupid before. If he didn't like me, why would we be here, doing this?

As soon as his hand slips beneath my shirt, we hear the front door open. In the blink of an eye, Clyde is halfway across the room and clearly trying to get as far away from me as possible.

Unfortunately by now I'm at the point of no return, so I sit up and try to think about depressing shit like my grandmother dying or the fact that I'm adopted.

Yeah, that does the trick.

Clyde is looking at me, panicking for god knows what reason. "Dude, my dad is home!" he whispers.

"Yeah," I say, finding it hard to care.

I'm about a hundred percent sure Clyde has not and never will tell his dad he's dating me.

"Oh, man," Clyde groans. "Imagine if he saw us?"

"He won't," I deadpan. "He's downstairs. He probably doesn't even know we're up here."

"How about –" he starts, but I cut him off.

"I swear to God if you ask me to sneak out I'm going to rip you a new one," I interrupt.

He presses his lips together, staying quiet. He's so transparent sometimes.

"Does your dad not know we're together?" I say impatiently.

"Of course not! That's not something I would just tell him!" Clyde glances frantically out the door of his room and down the stairs. "He would totally freak out!"

"You dad wouldn't care." I frown, pushing myself up off the bed. "He probably wouldn't even really comment on it."

"No way," Clyde says firmly. "My dad has enough to deal with between the shop and my sister's college payments. The last thing he needs is to think about how his son is in some queer relationship with a kid that he's known forever in some super homophobic hick town."

"Just tell him that things have been fine so far," I suggest.

"If I tell him he's going to think that we've been hooking up forever!"

"And why would that matter?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"Because it would be fucking awkward!" He gives me a stern look. "Are you really telling me that you wouldn't feel weird about your parents assuming that we'd been boning since god knows when?"

"Not really," I admit. "I talk to my parents about this kind of shit and it's not awkward… I mean, I told them I'm gay and I told them we're together. They were cool with it. I think if they thought something like that they'd just ask me straight up instead of assuming."

"Well… your parents are the most liberal people I've ever met," he mumbles. "My dad is different."

"Maybe you're not giving him enough credit," I say.

"I know him better than you do," he argues.

"No shit," I snap impatiently, "I'm just saying that sometimes people see what they want to see, Clyde. So maybe you're just being a fucking baby because you don't want to tell people, regardless of how they react. You just don't want anyone to know!"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Stop shouting."

"I'm not shouting," I mutter.

"Well, you're getting worked up again," he says.

I stare at him, ignoring the comment. "So, what are you going to do, Clyde?"

"Nothing!" he snaps back at me. "Craig, you're putting way too much pressure on me to make everything happen right now. It's not fair for you to expect so much from me. This is a hard transition, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I didn't think I was gay at all until like two weeks ago! This wasn't even a possibility I considered for myself! I don't want you to be a secret either, but that doesn't mean I want to have to explain to everybody exactly what's going on in my life not even a month into dating you!"

I stare back at him blankly.

"So you can't tell you dad." I say quietly.

"So I can't tell my dad," Clyde reaffirms. "I'm not ready for it yet. Look, I know this is hard for you," he continues, "I know it makes you feel like I don't like you or that I don't want to show you off, but can you please take a second and think about how this is all making me feel?"

"I've been there," I remind him. "I know how you feel."

"Then stop pushing me," he says with finality.

"You pushed me, though," I point out. "Yeah, I started this whole thing… but you didn't just let it go. You pretty much forced me to admit to everyone I was gay.

He lets out a breath. "I didn't mean for things to happen like that."

I grind my teeth. "Would you be happier in this situation if I was a girl?"

Clyde is quiet for a moment and I can tell that he is honestly contemplating whether or not he would be happier. "I don't know," he mumbles hesitantly, "and I'm not trying to upset you by saying that, but I'm still fucking confused…"

I emit a calm sigh, trying to keep myself cooled off. "Okay," I start. "Do you like kissing me? Do you pretend I'm someone else? How did you feel just now – before your dad walked in? Can you see yourself eventually fucking me? Do you _want_ to fuck me?"

"Christ, Craig," he mutters, recoiling slightly. "It's far too soon to be talking about sex."

"But I want to eventually have sex, Clyde!" I exclaim. "That's what many relationships eventually lead to!" A pause. "Plus… we've been dating a couple weeks now… and I think that's a fine time for us to at least have a conversation about it."

Clyde pushes his fingers through his hair. "Look, we'll talk about this later, but not while my dad is here…"

"He's not listening," I say knowingly. "He's probably in his office or something."

"You're pushing me again!" he snaps suddenly, and I'm surprised by the sternness in his voice. "I don't want to talk about this, so we're not going to talk about it! Okay?"

Talk about a boner killer.

"Don't yell at me," I say.

"Oh, don't act all wounded." Clyde says harshly. "You were yelling at me not even a minute ago."

I roll my eyes. Obviously this is going nowhere.

"I'm going home." I walk past him, out the bedroom door. "Call me when you're ready to talk about this."

On my way downstairs and into the kitchen, I pass Roger, who is pouring himself a cup of coffee.

He doesn't even look up as I collect my books from the table and shove them into my bag. Of course not. Roger never fucking notices anything. He was distant before Betsy passed away, and even more so now. I don't know why the hell Clyde is so paranoid.

Communication is key. Everyone says so – especially when it comes to romance. If me and Clyde hope to have a relationship, he can't bottle this shit up forever. He needs to open up eventually, otherwise I can't fucking do this. I'm already growing so damn sick of it. No matter how much I like him, I don't want to keep having to protect his stupid fragile masculinity.

I blame his dad for that. Maybe Clyde is such a manly man because he wants his dad's attention. He does all the things he think he should do to make a father proud, plus he's a star athlete. I guess I don't really make the list. In Clyde's eyes, dating me won't make his father proud.

I don't know where Roger stands when it comes to this stuff, but I don't think he'd care as much as Clyde seems to think.

I don't really know what to tell Clyde. His efforts are clear yet fruitless. I don't know what would have to occur for his father to notice him – _really_ notice him.

Part of me thinks it's just not in Roger's personality to be terribly present. He always looks exhausted from the long hours he spends working at the shoe shop.

He follows a routine. Wakes up early, comes home late, and sleeps. There was a time where I would have thought that if he just got out there and met another woman, he might start to find time for other things in his life. Now I'm not so sure.

It's been seven years since Clyde lost his mom and I don't think I've ever seen Roger so much as look at another woman, which is surprising, because I didn't feel like he and Betsy got along so well to begin with. They always had pretty different ideas on how to raise Clyde, and it usually just ended up with them fighting.

Roger was a permissive parent. Betsy was so strict with Clyde. She had all these strange rules. I think that's another thing that really shaped the person he's become… and it's kind of sad.

For Clyde, Betsy was a source of constant embarrassment. She was so uppity about the smallest things. Maybe Clyde resented her for it. Sometimes I wonder if he holds any guilt, but it's not really something he talks about. On the surface, it seems like he's totally fine and that he has moved on… but still, sometimes I wonder.

Death affects people in all sorts of different ways. Sometimes the affects last a long time. Sometimes they last forever.

Clyde would probably get mad at me if I asked him about it. He's an emotional person, but I think he prefers to pretend otherwise when it comes to certain stuff.

I guess I can't criticize him too much for it, though. There are things I like to keep bottled up, too.

I open my front door and see Ruby's backpack sprawled across the floor. Great.

Almost on cue, Ruby appears in the hallway.

"Hey fucker." She smirks. "How was your after school backdoor session with you gay butt buddy?"

"You're fucking gross," I sneer, flipping her off.

"Whatever, you're the one letting someone stick their dick up your rank butthole."

"We don't even do that." I roll my eyes. "Most gay couples don't even do that."

"Ohhh," she says, tapping her finger against her chin. "So, you mean your boyfriend's too much of a baby to fulfill your lifelong dream of getting pounded? No renting the downstairs? No fudge packing? He seems like the type to enjoy spear fishing. What a shame."

I want to scream. My baby sister should not have this shit in her vocabulary.

God! Fucking gross! I resist the urge to leap across and smack her in the face. Why does she have to make it all sound so dirty?

"You're making me seriously uncomfortable," I tell her, trying to keep calm.

"Why?" she asks with facetious innocence. "I'm not saying anything that isn't true. You want Clyde to fuck your pussy."

I recoil. "Don't talk about me like that!" I practically shriek at her. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, God," she drawls. "You're so fucking dramatic."

"You're putting disgusting pictures in my head!" I snap.

She just laughs and it sounds like she's fucking cackling.

I walk off and go upstairs, disappearing in my room. I lock the door for good measure, not wanting her to barge in to continue her repulsive tirade.

Ugh. She's worse than some of the guys at school and that's saying quite a lot because they have some dirty, nasty mouths.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day at school starts off miserable. Clyde obviously isn't ready to talk because he's been avoiding me all morning. By lunchtime, even Token seemed concerned.

"Did you guys have another fight?" he asks, folding the corners of his napkin and wiping up an unknown liquid from the cafeteria table. "I thought things were going alright with you two."

I shrug, "It's complicated."

"Yeah I guess so. I think he even skipped lunch, or at least went out. I don't see him anywhere in here."

"I don't care" I say, focusing on my food.

This is the last thing I want to talk about right now. I think Token gets the hint, because he drops the subject.

"Hey, so I'm having a party this weekend. My parents are going out of town and it'd be cool if you came," he offers. "I'm trying to keep it on the down low so that not all the jackasses from our class show up."

"Maybe," I say thoughtfully. "The past couple parties I've been to haven't exactly turned out well for me."

"I know, but this one should be a little more controlled. You know I don't like have random weirdos in my house."

I chuckle, "Good luck with that, you know how fast word spreads around here."

"So don't tell anyone, problem solved," he jokes.

I force a smile and say, "You know I can keep my mouth shut."

"True," Token agrees. "You've never been much of a talker."

Clyde is the one that can't seem to keep his mouth shut, but I don't mention that. I don't want to shove him under the bus and stir the pot.

After a few minutes, Nichole joins us.

"Hi, guys!"

She sits down next to her boyfriend and they share a lovey-dovey look. Clyde would never look at me that way. I can't even picture it in my head, the idea is too foreign.

I guess it would be nice, though. It would be nice to be looked at like that. Then I'd actually feel like I was desired.

"Hey, Nichole," I greet her somewhat flatly.

"What's got your pants in a bunch?" she asks.

"The usual," I say vaguely.

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "Want me to talk to Clyde? Maybe he'll listen to a girl."

I snort at that. "Don't fuckin' bother."

Nichole looks irritated, but not offended. Good. The last thing I need is Token on my case too.

"So, you gonna come or not? I want to know how much alcohol I need to get."

"I'll be there," I say disdainfully. In all honesty, drinking at a party full of kids from our school is probably the last thing on earth I want to do, but it might do me some good to get out of the house because of something other than Clyde.

"Try not to be such a sourpuss," Nichole teases, and I just roll my eyes.

Leave it to Token to find the most sickeningly sweet girl in our entire county. As much as I want Clyde and I to at least get along, I'm not sure I could handle someone as nice as Nichole. I'd walk all over them. Someone like Nichole and I wouldn't make it through our first week.

But then again, me and Clyde aren't doing so hot either.

I finally dig into my book bag and pull out some food. I take a few bites before realizing I don't feel all that hungry. It's probably my nerves getting to me again.

I should probably try and patch things up with Clyde, but I don't want to make the first move. I hate making the first move, especially when I don't feel like I did anything wrong.

"What are you thinking about?" Nichole asks out of the blue. "I can pretty much hear the gears grinding in your head."

I shrug. "Where's Clyde?"

"I haven't seen him since first period," she says before glancing at Token.

"Same," he says.

I let out a groan. He's being such a fucking baby. If he keeps avoiding me like this, the entire school is going to know we're fighting.

"I can text him if you want," Token offers, whipping out his phone. "Hold on just a second…There."

"Thanks," I say somewhat hesitantly.

"You two are so cute," Nichole interjects. "I hope everything works out. Wendy, Bebe, and I think it's great."

"Yeah?" I ask, "Even Bebe?"

"Bebe is beyond thrilled! She told me she was there that first night and that she thought it was going to turn out to be a huge mess, but that she was so stoked when she finally heard from Clyde that you guys were seeing each other!"

I nod uneasily, "He told Bebe?"

It's news to me that he's willingly told anyone.

"Yeah, like right away I think," Nichole confirms.

"Here!" Token says suddenly, "He's at the cafe across the street if you're still looking for him."

"Yeah, I think I will," I start loading my lunch back into my bag, "I'll see you guys later."

I wander off and leave the cafeteria, slowly making my way out of the school and across the street.

I'm more than surprised that he told Bebe and I'm more than surprised that she is actually happy about it.

But maybe he just did it to try and make her jealous? Clearly that didn't work. Maybe the only reason Bebe is happy about it is because this means Clyde won't be longing for her anymore.

Okay, here I go again… thinking in circles. I need to stop being such a jealous, clingy baby. I need to have more faith in people.

When I get to the café, I push open the doors and head inside. I glance around, trying to find Clyde and eventually I spot a head of familiar hair in the corner of the cafe. I make my way towards him and then sit across.

"Hey," I say, deciding to be the first to speak.

"Hey," he echoes.

There's a latte sitting in front of him and he's stirring it with a stir stick, staring down into the liquid.

"So…" I start, trailing off.

"I'm not ready to talk about it," Clyde jumps in, "and you said to let you know when I was ready. Well, I'm not."

"I know," I reply quietly. "I'm sorry that I was so demanding about that."

He eyes me warily, "Really?"

"Yeah," I admit, "You're right, we've only been dating for a couple weeks. I should probably try to take things more slowly than that."

Clyde smiles, giving me a slightly triumphant look up and down.

"Look, it's not that I don't ever want to talk about—" he pauses, lowering his voice to a whisper, "You know, doing you. It's also not that I don't like you or don't think you're hot. This is just a lot all at once."

"I know it is," I say sheepishly, "I'm sorry I was being pushy."

"You were being sooooooo pushy," he laughs, "Like, more so than usual and that's saying something."

I grit my teeth. "Don't."

He holds up his hands and snickers. "Sorry, sorry."

"I don't want to rush things, either," I tell him offhandedly. "I guess I just tend to forget that these feelings are new to you… and they're not necessarily new to me. I've felt this way for a while… So, I just feel like by now I'm more of an open book than you are."

"I'll talk eventually," he says.

"I know," I relent. "I'll stop pushing until then."

"Promise?" he asks.

"Yes, I promise," I say.

"You also gotta stop being so insecure," he adds.

I grit my teeth again, trying to keep calm and not explode at him in the middle of the café. "Okay, fine, but that's not really something I can change in the blink of an eye. All I can do is try not to jump to all kinds of conclusions."

"You're so paranoid," he mumbles. "Why is that?"

"Because, as we've established many times, I'm very insecure," I say somewhat tersely. I hate admitting this shit out loud, but if I want Clyde to open up with me then I need to show him that I'm totally willing to open up with him… which I am. I've been pretty open this entire time.

Clyde nods knowingly, as if he actually has any fucking clue what I'm talking about.

"Thanks for apologizing though." He smiles, taking a bite of what I'm guessing is a chocolate chip muffin. "It means a lot."

"Sure." I shrug nonchalantly.

"Let's get back to the school," Clyde says, finishing his food. "I'm sick of sitting as far away from you as possible."

"Me too. God." I get up from the table. "Even Token was wondering what the fuck was going on with you."

"Did you tell him?"

"Of course I fucking didn't. He doesn't need to know about all that."

Clyde chuckles, "Yeah…"

"I heard that you told Bebe though," I interject, "About us being together at least."

Clyde slings his backpack up over his shoulder, "Yeah, I told her right away. Normally the first person I would tell would be you… but, you know. It just felt safe going to her."

I nod my head. That much is understandable. They have a pretty long history.

We exit the café and make our way back to school in time for the bell. Together, we head to our next class. We find Token in the back and we join him. He offers us weary smiles. He's probably glad to see that we patched things up. I know that he doesn't really enjoy having to play the mediator.

"No more trouble in paradise?" he asks.

"We're fine," I insist.

Class starts when the teacher walks in and everyone falls silent. I take out my note book and pretend to pay attention, but it's so fucking boring. I seriously hate school so much. I wish I could drop out, but at this point I may as well finish.

"Craig, pay attention!" the teacher snaps at me when I start to daze off.

I let out an impatient mumble and sit up straight. Clyde is snickering next to me, so I nudge him in the arm. "Sh."

Looking back to the front of the classroom, I notice out of the corner of my eye that Jason is peering over his shoulder at us.

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. What does this asshole want?

Turning in my seat, I make direct eye contact, scowling to let him know that I've noticed.

Jason doesn't react, but instead puckers his lips, making several low kissing sounds at me.

I glance back at Clyde, who hasn't noticed. Thank god.

Looking back to Jason, he's advanced to flicking his tongue up and down.

I scrunch up my nose and give him a disgusted look, but I can feel my face getting hot. Fuck. I hate that he knows how to get a rise out of me. I guess that's what I get for being friends with the asshole for so long. I wish that I could just turn around and act like it doesn't bother me, but my white-as-a-sheet complexion doesn't really allow that.

I want to shout at him, but I can't really do that without drawing mad attention to myself. So, I stick up my middle finger and OF COURSE the idiot teacher has to choose now to look back at me.

"CRAIG, JASON!" she growls at us. "Get out of my damn classroom!"

God, I wish Jason would fucking die!

"For fuck's sake!" I snap back, grabbing my shit and storming out. I try to shuffle down the hall as fast as I can, but I know Jason is about to catch up.

The teacher probably wants me to head to the principal's office, but fuck that. So, instead, I head to the bathroom. I lock myself in the last stall and pull out a cigarette. Yeah, it's pretty dumb to smoke in school, but I haven't been caught doing it yet.

I light the cigarette and inhale, trying to calm my nerves. If Jason follows me in here I'm going to fucking scream.

When I finish my cigarette, I flush it down the toilet. I don't know if you're supposed to do that or not, but I don't really give a fuck.

I exit the bathroom, headed down the hall to go get my shit and head home, but as soon as I turn the corner I see Jason circling my locker like a fucking vulture.

"What the fuck man?" I shout, walking directly up to him.

"Hey gaybo," he says nonchalantly. "Did I get you a little too riled up back there? My bad, man, my bad."

"You're fucking gross!" I spit out, walking past him and up to my locker.

"Aw don't be so sensitive." He follows, leaning up again the wall next to me. "Hey, so I've been wondering—if you're such a huge pussy and you want to fuck dudes, that makes you the girl, right? I mean, obviously Clyde is the man, but I figured I should ask."

"Fuck off, Jason," I say warningly.

"But I also can't figure out why if you were going to fuck dudes and be so whiny like a chick, why you wouldn't just want to be a girl. You want to be a girl, huh?" Jason sneers.

For a moment I just stare at him, unsure where to go from here. How the hell do I respond to something like that? It's so offensive on so many levels and there's so much anger and hatred in his voice it's unsettling me. Like, Jesus Christ! I want to lurch forward and beat the crap out of him, but he's stronger than me. If I hit him, he'd hit me back ten times as hard and I'd probably end up on the floor crying.

"Jason," I murmur, shaking with anger, "Not only are you being transphobic, but you've just proven to have no idea what it means to be gay. So, hey, maybe YOU'RE gay, Jason. Maybe you have a little crush on me and that's why you won't fuck off?"

His jaw drops to the floor. "What!?" he growls, visibly disgusted by my accusation.

I pop my locker open and start shoveling my books into my bag.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve?" I ask, egging him on. "I mean, you were making all those obscene gestures at me. Careful. I might take you up on your offer."

"Watch it, Tucker."

He's eyeing me dangerously, and I can tell he's gearing up to take a swing at me.

"On second thought, I have a boyfriend, but thanks for considering me to be your first!" I laugh, taking several steps backward and away from him, "I'm honored."

"Shut your fucking mouth—" he starts, but I don't get to hear the rest of what he says because I start booking it down the hall.

I'm pretty sure I know where that was going but I wasn't about to stick around and find out.

I bust out the front door of the school and head towards home, looking over my shoulder once I reach the corner to see if Jason followed me. He didn't.

.

.

The following day, school is pretty much the same. After class, Clyde invites me over. We do a little bit of studying in his room before we decide to take a break. We're sitting side-by-side on his bed and an array of text books are laid out in front of our line of vision.

"What do you want to do now?" he asks.

I shrug.

Well, I know exactly what I want to do, but I'm not going to say it. I'm not going to push. I'm not going to make the first move.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" I wonder out of the blue.

"Yeah, of course," he says. "I'd have to be blind to think otherwise. Sorry if I don't say it enough."

"It's fine," I respond.

And, almost as if he's reading my mind, he tilts his head and leans forward. He pecks me on the lips once and then twice and then a third time before drawing away.

"You're hot, okay?" he says.

"Okay," I say back.

"Everyone knows you're hot."

"I'm glad that the general school populous thinks so," I joke.

Clyde doesn't laugh. He's watching me intently but still managing to avoid eye contact, and it's making me a little uncomfortable.

"Are you…okay?" I ask awkwardly, shifting forward on the bed.

"I'm fine," he responds.

But then Clyde reaches out and puts his hand on my thigh, sending a shiver up my spine.

"Hey," I say apprehensively, "We don't have to do anything. I know you're not ready yet—"

"I'm ready," he spits out, still looking down, "You were right with what you said before."

"About what?"

"That it's going to happen at some point, and I trust you, so I don't know why it wouldn't happen now."

Clyde is blushing so intensely it's making me embarrassed just looking at him.

"O-okay," I mutter. "I trust you too."

So, I guess this is it. After years of me wondering who I'd end up doing it with and when… It's going to happen now and with Clyde. It doesn't feel quite real. It just feels so unceremonious.

Clyde tugs on the hem of my shirt and I lift my arms, letting him remove it. He tosses it onto the floor and then I do the same to him.

When we're both bare-chested, Clyde leans forward again. I reach for his zipper as we tongue, fumbling with the button before undoing his jeans. I touch him the way I'd touch myself at first, but it's still completely unfamiliar because I'm not alone in my room – I'm here doing this with another person.

I feel him go hard in my hand and then I pull away before deciding to go down on him. For a second, I just stare at his erection.

He's bigger than I am and I doubt I'll be able to fit it all in my mouth, so I'm not going to bother trying. I'm inexperienced… and I don't really know what the fuck I'm doing.

Slowly, I lean forward. I lick a slow strip up the shaft, smearing it with saliva before closing my eyes. I feel my brows furrow as I try to concentrate on doing what is hopefully at least a somewhat okay job.

It's supposed to be messy, right?

I'm embarrassed, but the thought of him watching me do this is kind of a turn on.

I feel Clyde shudder and let out a breath. I take that as encouragement. I swirl my tongue around the tip and jerk him off, trying to build some sort of steady pleasurable rhythm. I take him in as deep as I can put my free hand on his hip.

"Fuck," I hear him whisper hoarsely.

His breath quickens momentarily as he gasps and, without warning, I feel his jizz shoot down the back of my throat. I cringe, but I don't gag or choke or spit it out. I just forcefully swallow. It's not a pleasant taste, but it's tolerable.

I hollow my cheeks and pull away with a quiet _pop_ sound, wiping the saliva from my mouth before looking up.

Clyde lets out what I at first think is a muffled laugh, but turns out to be a restrained sob.

"What the fuck, are you okay?" I shoot up next to him, abandoning all hope of the favor being returned and cupping his face with one hand, running the other through his hair.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" he insists, wiping frantically at his face, but the tears don't stop leaking out.

"Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?" I ask. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened!" he says again, between stifled snivels.

I get up from the bed and grab both our shirts, tossing Clyde's over his lap.

"Then what the FUCK is going on?" I spit, struggling to pull my own shirt over my head.

I shouldn't be mad, but what the hell. Who the fuck starts crying after their first blowjob and then insists that everything's fine and dandy.

"Put your clothes back on and tell me what the hell is happening."

"Nothing!" Clyde swears, "I just got overwhelmed!"

"By what? By me? By this?" I gesture back and forth between us and then pause. "..Are you not okay with this?"

"Stop it!" he shouts, bursting into tears again. "It was just a lot! I wasn't ready!"

"What the fuck do you mean you weren't ready? Why the hell didn't you tell me to stop?"

"I'm sorry! I just didn't!"

"Well that's great, that's fucking awesome Clyde," I hiss.

"I don't know what I want!" he yells back at me.

Then it clicks for me. There's no way he's upset because of bad timing.

"You didn't want to have sex with me at all, did you?" I say accusingly.

"What?" Clyde looks surprised, or at least tries to. Really he just looks guilty.

"That's totally what this is, isn't it!?" I roar. "You didn't want to have sex because it would make this all too real for you! Because then you'd really be gay! But you don't actually like me like that, do you? You've just been manipulating me this whole time! Haven't you?"

He doesn't respond.

"Haven't you?" I demand.

Clyde looks at me sheepishly for a moment wiping at his eyes and muttering a quiet "No…"

That's it's. I'm fucking done. Enough is enough. This is over.

"I'm breaking up with you." I say suddenly. "I don't think we were ever really dating to begin with."

He raises a hand to swipe at his eyes and I can't even feel sorry for him because I'm too fucking angry and humiliated and betrayed.

How could he fucking do this to me?

And most importantly… why?

This is so, so, so fucked up.

"Wait –" Clyde tries to protest, choking out the word.

"No! Fuck you, Clyde!" I shout with finality before collecting my things and leaving as fast as I can.

Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this.

When I'm outside, I lift my book bag over my shoulder and let out a shuddery sigh. My breath comes out in a puff of white smoke in the frigid outdoor temperature.

"Damn it…" I whisper weakly to myself. This isn't what I wanted. My chest is literally aching.

I force myself to walk home and I have to try so fucking hard not to start crying along the way.

This is fucking unbelievable.

I open the door to my house just as the tears start streaming down my face. I hear someone shuffling around in the living room, but I really don't feel like having to explain myself right now so I hurry up the stairs and into my room. I don't even want my family to know I'm home right now.

Why would he do that? Why the fuck would he do that?

I feel sick to my stomach. How could somebody I liked so much for so long do something like this to me?

I was just starting to get over him. Of course he reeled me back in. He probably thought he was going to lose me forever. This is exactly what he tried to do to Bebe when they broke up. Me hanging out with Kenny was like me dumping him.

He can be so fucking selfish with the people in his life.

He shouldn't have tried to force this. He should have just left me alone. Then I'd probably be with Kenny right now. I wonder if being with him would have been any easier than this…

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Maybe I'm just really unlucky.

Either way, I guess it doesn't matter now. I fucked it up with Kenny. I did it for Clyde because I thought it'd be better than this. I actually saw a fucking future with him.

Now I just feel like an idiot.

I step out of my boots, setting them by my door before removing my coat. I toss it in my closet and then I sit on my bed, trying to contemplate what I should do next.

I sniffle loudly, unceremoniously wiping my nose on my sleeve before getting my phone out of my pocket. I scroll through my contact list, stopping when I see Token's name. Then I press dial.

Ring, ring, ring… and finally –

" _Hello?_ " Token's familiar voice greets.

"Hey," I respond wetly.

" _Hey man, you alright?"_ he asks, quickly picking up on the tone of my voice.

"Can I come over?" I manage to muster, "I need someone to talk to."

Normally I would talk to Clyde. Not anymore.

" _Yeah, totally."_

Token is probably surprised, the last time I specifically went to him for help was when Clyde was out of town in the summer of freshman year.

" _I_ _'ll come pick you up. I'll be there in 10,"_ he tells me, hanging up the phone.

I sit on my bed flipping through Facebook on my phone in an attempt to distract myself until Token arrives. Thank god Clyde and I never made our relationship Facebook official—that would have sucked to take down.

Soon, I get a text from Token telling me he's here. Token never knocks, he always just has us come out. Something about not wanting to bother our families.

I put my shoes and coat back on before quietly leaving the house. I get in the passenger's seat of Token's car. The ride to his house is quiet. He doesn't ask any questions. He just waits.

I have no idea how to even bring it up. I'm dreading how people are going to react.

I probably look like a hot mess. My eyes are probably puffy and red still, but I doubt the waterworks are over yet. I still feel like total shit. I don't really know how a thing like this will get better for me.

Soon, we pull into Token's driveway and we head inside.

Token lives in the richest part of town with his mom and his dad. Their house is really huge. As soon as we step inside, there's a big chandelier hanging over our heads.

I haven't been here in a while. I feel like Clyde has been taking up most of my attention, but not even in a good way.

"Want a drink or anything?" Token asks me, playing the part of the host.

"No, I'm fine," I murmur.

"Okay," he says. "Let's head up to my room."

He nods for me to follow him and the two of us head upstairs.

"So what's up man?" he asks me, sitting down in his desk chair and rolling towards the foot of the bed where I am.

"Clyde and I broke up," I say, staring down at my hands.

"Really?" he asks, but he doesn't look the least bit surprised. "I thought you two were doing fine yesterday."

"I thought so, too."

"You gonna be okay?" He sounds concerned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"He told me he was ready to bone—" I say tersely. "So, we fucking did and everything went to shit from there."

Now Token looks surprised.

"You and Clyde had sex?" He pauses. "Wow. I didn't think you were at that point yet."

"Me neither really! But he said he was into it—he even initiated it! So I just went for it!" I spit, "Everything seemed fine to me and he seemed totally into it, and the next thing you know I have his fucking dick in my mouth and he just like, bursts into fucking tears!"

Token makes an 'o' shape with his mouth before pressing his lips firmly together and frowning. He looks contemplative. "Do you think he was trying to force it?"

"I guess," I murmur. "Sex is a big step. Maybe he thought he could just force it and get it over with or something. Clearly he didn't really want to do it to begin with. He just felt like he had to. I think he just wanted to shut me up and make it seem like he was putting effort into our relationship or something… I don't fucking know."

Token lets out a sigh. "Jeez, what a guy…"

"Christ," I moan, putting my face in my hands and moaning some more. When I raise my head, I admit, "I'm so fucking humiliated… I can't _believe_ he let me do that to him!"

Token nods his head along to what I'm saying, letting me know he's listening. When I'm quiet, he says, "Sorry, man. That's some rough shit."

"Honestly… it's more than obvious to me now that he never liked me to begin with," I mutter, glancing to the side. "I feel so fucking stupid… and I'm so fucking angry…"

"That's understandable," Token sympathizes. "He messed up and that was wrong of him."

"I feel like I literally assaulted him!" I whisper in a hiss. "It's so fucked up!"

Token shakes his head. "Don't let yourself feel that way. You can't. It'll drive you crazy with guilt. Sure, maybe you were pushy at times, but from where I'm standing it didn't seem like you were pushing him to be an asshole. You weren't pushing for sex. You were pushing because you didn't feel like Clyde wanted you, right?"

"Right," I whisper.

"And I guess that's why he wanted to prove it in a stupid way. Clyde went for it. He made a choice. So did you. If you knew what he was feeling, you never would have went for it. Now this is just something you'll both have to live with."

"I don't think we can fix it, though," I say. "It's ruined. Everything is ruined."

"Not everything," Token reasons gently.

"Ten years of friendship just went down the shitter," I argue. "It's fucking ruined."

Token smiles wearily. "Just give it some time."

"Ugh, I want to throw up," I say, wringing my fingers through my hair.

"Listen," Token says sternly, "I'll talk to him. I usually try to stay out of your shit but I don't mind intervening here because you guys obviously need help—"

I don't like the idea of Token having to mediate my relationships, but at this point I don't see any other options. There's no way that I can talk to Clyde on my own, and even if I did I don't think he would be honest with me.

"Do you mind if I talk to Bebe about this?" he finishes.

"Bebe?" I scrunch up my nose, "I would rather you didn't."

"I just think if she and I talked to Clyde together we might get a more honest answer, or maybe even just her."

I shrug, "I feel like she's just going to use this to get back together with him, or rub it all in my face or something."

"Bebe really isn't like that at all," Token insists. "She and Clyde have been broken up for forever and there have been a lot of opportunities for them to get back together. It's not like you were the only thing keeping them from throwing themselves at each other."

"I know that," I grumble, "I just—dude I just don't want her to know, okay? Do you think it was the right thing for me to do to break up with him like that? I mean—like right after?" I ask, wringing my hands together.

"I don't know," Token admits. "It sounds like the whole thing really freaked you out. Do you wish you hadn't dumped him now?"

"No, I mean, fuck him. I'm just worried. I don't fucking know."

"Craig, relax, I'll call him right now. Okay?" Token reassures me, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket.

I sigh and slump forward, feeling pathetic and stupid. I feel like I'll probably regret this forever. My first sexual experience and it was shit.

Token holds up a finger and then steps out of the room. He stands in the hallway, but I can still hear everything. He probably just doesn't want me getting defensive and shouting anything into the receiver.

After a few short moments –

"Hey, man, it's me," he starts. "Yeah, Craig is here. Uh-huh, he told me something like that."

I can practically hear Clyde's panicked voice coming from the other end of the line. It makes me feel even guiltier, though I wish it wouldn't. I don't want to feel this way, it fucking hurts.

"How are you feeling now?" Token asks Clyde. "Is there anything you want me to say to Craig?"

He probably won't say. He'll keep it in because he's embarrassed or whatever.

God, this is so fucked up.

I'm so jittery. I feel so anxious and I'm still kind of nauseous. I try to take deep breaths and zone out. I don't even want to hear the conversation Token is having with Clyde anymore.

How are we going to fix this? It seems fucking impossible at this point.

"Okay—yeah. I'll talk to you later." I hear Token say as he re-enters the room and hangs up the phone. I straighten my back, eyeing him warily as he sits down on the bed next to me.

"So, Clyde sounds fine. He just said he was worried about you and that he was glad you're with me."

I stare at him is disbelief. "That's it? He's fine?"

Token shrugs, "Well, I mean, he's okay. He sounded riled up just like you. He said he was sorry and wanted me to put you on the phone, but I said I would tell you to call him after I had the chance to talk to you."

"I don't want to call him." I spit out.

"I figured, but you probably should. This shit isn't going to fix itself."

"He totally fucked with me," I say tersely, feeling the anger rise in my chest "He should be groveling at my feet if he wants to talk. He thought that if he fucking lied to me about wanting to have sex—I mean, I don't even fucking know what he was thinking! Why did he do that? Does he not realize what sort of position that puts me in!? I was trying to be so careful not to pressure him and then this fucking happens!"

"Craig," Token interrupts me, "I don't think what he did was intentional."

"But he wasn't trying not to! He wasn't trying to be honest with me! And now—I mean—what the fuck!? Did I just rape my best friend?" I bury my head in my hands, "What the actual fuck Token? What does this fucking make me?"

"I really don't think Clyde feels that way about it Craig, but you need to ask him, not me," he says sternly.

I let out a breath, trying to calm myself down but I feel too unpleasantly overwhelmed.

"I don't know what to do or say," I murmur the confession.

"Don't think about it," Token says t me. "When you're with him, it'll all come out. Just give it a minute. You guys are best friends and you can work through this. I mean, think about all the shit you guys have been through together."

I know he's trying to comfort me, but I don't think that's possible right now.

I sniffle a bit, but I don't cry. I can't keep acting like such a fucking baby.

Token lets out a sigh, patting my shoulder. "Look, I know you feel bad, but this IS going to be okay. You'll look back on this someday and it won't sting."

I let out a scoff. "Yeah, right…"

"Let loose a bit this weekend," Token suggests. "This thing with Clyde is a tough situation, but you can't make yourself crazy over it. That won't do any good for either of you."

"Yeah," I mumble.


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the week comes and goes but Clyde and I don't talk it out. Fuck, we don't even make eye contact.

He told Token he wanted to have a conversation but he sure as hell isn't trying. Maybe he's mad I didn't call him. I probably should have called him. I would have wanted him to call me.

Honestly, I'm scared to talk to him. I think I really fucked up. I should have known that he wasn't ready, I should have seen it in his face. I feel like an idiot. I needed to be paying more attention.

Clyde seems okay—other than the fact that he's avoiding me. He doesn't seem mad or emotionally distraught. Token told me Thursday afternoon that they hadn't talked about it since that night on the phone and that he thought Clyde had let it go. I'm not convinced—I think he's just holding onto everything until I'm ready to talk.

Friday night means parties. Since my first mistake, I've been avoiding parties… but I can't do that forever. So, I head to Kevin Stoley's house for the weekend.

Before I even get there I can hear the music coming from the inside. There's no doubting that Clyde is inside. I'll probably find him pressed up close against a pretty girl. If we make eye contact, he'll be the first to break it and try to ensure he's straight to whoever he's with.

I let out a sigh and reach for the door, letting myself in. I immediately feel unwelcome, but I'm probably just psyching myself out.

I slide past Terrance, Bill and Fosse unnoticed and I move towards the kitchen to mix myself a drink before trying to find someone familiar.

I make it strong and vow not to do anything stupid tonight. Kind of seems counterproductive, but I'm too anxious. I need to calm down.

I wander back into the living room, which is overflowing with people. I spot Clyde leaning against a bookshelf and chatting with Red. Of course.

Watching them talk makes me feel sick to my stomach. I can tell he's flirting. I wonder if Red is buying it. At this point, I would have thought that the gay rumors would still be circulating, but maybe Red's been waiting to jump on this opportunity.

I stop in the doorway, and Clyde glances over at me. I realize I've been staring, and sheepishly try to play it off, acting like I'm zoning out on the painting above his head.

He blinks, unfazed, and turns back to Red.

Damn.

I don't think he ever had any feelings for me at all.

I don't get it. I don't get why he'd try this damn hard. I don't get why he would put so much effort into messing with my head like this. It makes me wonder if he fucking hates me or something… and that just makes me kind of sad.

I sip on my drink and try to find another familiar face – someone I can talk to… I see Bebe with some of the cheerleaders. I see Stan and his group of friends. I don't see Token. Then I realize that I don't really have many friends. That makes me even sadder.

I really don't want to feel sad tonight. I'm at a party. I came here to feel the opposite… or at least TRY.

After a few minutes of standing alone, unsuccessfully trying to find someone I can hang with, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's unfamiliar and it causes me to feel nervous, but I refuse to let it show.

I let out a sigh, turning around. "What?" I ask expectantly, coming to face with Terrance. Behind him, Bill and Fosse are lingering. Great. I can tell they're going to give me a hard time.

"What's up, fag?" Bill says menacingly.

"Hey guys," I say, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of my drink. "Enjoying the party."

"Oh yeah—" Terrance grins, leaning up against the doorframe, "Not as fun as it's about to be though."

"Why's that?" I ask dryly, "You about to go stick your dicks in each other?"

I turn away from them, looking back around the living room in search of Token or anyone else to talk to.

Suddenly, I feel a hand yank my hat off my head and the other one land roughly on my shoulder.

"What the fuck—" I practically shout, trying to twist out of the grip, but they don't let go.

"We're going out," Terrance spits, squeezing me hard enough I'm sure it'll leave bruises.

I try to pull away again, but Bill grabs my other arm.

"Fuck you guys!" I squirm again, yanking my body backwards into them hoping to throw them off balance, but they're both bigger than me and they don't even stumble.

I drop my half-empty drink and try to shake them off, but it doesn't work. Instead, they drag me down the hallway and out the front door.

Fuck.

This isn't going to be good.

I start to get nervous because I have no fucking idea what they're going to do to me, but I'm afraid. Yeah, I'll admit it.

Once we're outside, they push me onto the snow hard, knocking the wind right out of me. I cough and they don't bother giving me a second to catch my breath. They start pushing me around like a doll and I feel weak for not being able to stop them.

"STOP!" I shriek at them, no longer caring if I sound desperate. I just want them to leave me alone, but I can tell it's about to get worse.

"Oh you don't like that?" Terrance asks cruelly, grabbing me by the throat and holding me close to his face, "We'd think you'd like it rough if you were running with Clyde, considering how much he bragged when he was with Bebe about all the kinky shit they'd do."

"Let me go!" I shout, spitting in his face. The last thing I need right now is to hear about what Clyde and Bebe used to do.

"Ugh! Fuck you!" Terrance throws me to the ground, wiping my spit off his face.

"Watch your attitude, Tucker!" Bill continues, grabbing my arm and stepping on the back of my thigh to pin me to the concrete.

I hear Terrence chuckle above me and exchange inaudible words with Bill. My heart is beating too fast. My head is pounding too hard.

"What do you think of that, Tucker?" Terrance asks.

When I don't respond, he crouches down next to me and pushes my cheek into the ground, "I said, what do you think of that TUCKER?"

"Of what!?" I shout back.

"Of us tying you up. You must be used to that, huh? You must like that? If you and Clyde were a thing—I mean, since that's what he and Bebe were into."

I didn't even know about that.

I feel my face heat up with humiliation as my eyes glaze over, but I'm so fucking determined not to start crying. Not here. Not now. Not in front of these assholes.

I'm not going to answer them. I can't.

"I said," he bites out one more time, "what do you THINK of THAT? I asked you a question, Tucker. If I were you, I'd answer it."

I feel my throat tighten and I need to continue swallowing so I don't choke.

"We didn't do that," I manage to mumble.

"Oh, what was that? I can't quite hear you."

"We didn't DO that!" I repeat myself with more force. My voice shakes as I get the words out and I probably sound like I'm ten seconds away from breaking down.

This fucking sucks.

Why do people treat me like this?

I hate this position. I just want them to let me stand up. Then I could try and run away. If I were lucky enough, then I'd be faster than them… but I guess it's pointless to even think about it, because I don't think they'll be letting me up any time soon.

"Oh, I guess that's because he didn't really like you, huh?" Bill laughs. "We knew our boy wasn't gay."

Did Clyde put them up to this? Is this some sick ploy to prove to the school that he's straight? Because it's working.

"You're disgusting." he continues, crouching down, "It's honestly so gross what you did to him."

I feel a pang in my chest. Are they talking about us dating? Or are they talking about the sex? Has Clyde been telling people?

He stands up, and turns away. For a second I think he's going to leave. Instead he turns around and kicks me square in the mouth.

I let out a scream of pain as I feel my mouth fills up with blood. I'm sure he knocked out a tooth.

"Won't be kissing anyone with those lips anytime soon, pretty boy."

I feel like I'm going to puke. All I taste is iron. The taste is overwhelming and it makes me light-headed.

This is when I start to lose it. I inevitably start to cry and they obviously start to laugh, because they think it's funny. I'm giving them the exact reaction they want, even though I tried so damn hard not to.

It's like I'm only just realizing that I'm not a strong person. I'm weak. Weak in my mind and weak in my body. I feel small and inadequate.

I don't care anymore. I just want this to stop.

What now? Do I beg?

My heart is beating so damn fast that my chest hurts. I spit onto the snow, red drops leaving my mouth.

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?" a new voice shouts, and I watch from the ground as Bill takes a few hasty steps away from me. "Get the fuck out of here!"

I see a fist fly and hit Bill in the side of the head and knocking him to the ground.

"Dude, are you okay?" the same voice asks as two hands grab me by the shoulders and sit me up. It's Token.

I try to say yes, but end up coughing blood down the front of my shirt.

"Shit. Okay. You'll be okay man. I'll get you inside."

This time I just nod, but look past him to watch Bill getting up and scrambling away from whoever knocked him down.

It's Clyde, who's cursing and shaking out his hand. He's still wearing his thumb brace, and probably fucked it up again.

"Clyde, help me out," Token says sternly, glancing over his shoulder.

"Fuck, yeah, of course." He rushes over, crouching down and throwing my arm over his shoulder.

We move past people and they all stare. It makes me feel angry and resentful. I don't want them looking at me. I don't want them seeing me like this.

My eyes keep blurring and I need to try hard to stay focused.

"Craig?" Token says my name. "Stay awake, dude. We'll take care of you."

I don't even bother saying a damn word.

"What happened?!" a feminine voice exclaims.

Bebe.

The last person I want seeing me like this.

Great. Fucking super.

Fortunately she doesn't linger. I don't think Token would let her, even if she tried at this point.

I'm taken to an upstairs bathroom and seated on the closed toilet seat. Token grabs my chin, forcing eye contact. He holds up fingers.

"How many?"

"Four," I say dully. "I don't have a concussion or anything… I'm fine."

"You're NOT fine!" Clyde snaps, cutting in. "You're bleeding all over the damn place! You're barely recognizable!"

Man…

My parents are gonna flip.

Isn't this technically a hate crime? I don't know. I don't know if they really beat me up because I'm gay or if they just hate who I am as a person.

"Craig, don't zone out," Token warns again.

"I'm FINE!" I seethe.

He scoffs audibly, not believing a word of it.

Token opens the drawer under the sink and pulls out a first aid kit. He rolls two small pieces of gauze and sticks them up my nose, then tells me to open my mouth so he can check out the damage.

It's a bigger task than he bargained for, considering that the entire bottom half of my face is just one big fat lip.

"Damn, they really got you in the kisser didn't they?" Clyde jokes, and Token rolls his eyes.

"Your teeth seem okay," he starts, "Honestly, you're braces are probably what kept you from losing your whole front row. Cut up your gums really badly on them though."

God, I hope I don't need more dental work because of this. I'll fucking kill Bill, Fosse and Terrence if I do.

Token sticks a few more pieces of gauze underneath my lips and tells me he'll be back in a second with some ice.

As he steps out of the bathroom, Clyde follows, and I hear him whisper in a hushed tone, "Hey, can I get a second alone with him?"

I roll my eyes at that.

What the fuck is he gonna say to me now? How could we possibly screw things up any more? It seems pretty much impossible at this point.

Sure enough, a second later Clyde returns alone. "Hey," he says, looking guilty, though I'm not sure why.

I grunt at him, not really in the mood to get chatty.

He lets out a sigh, leaning against the door once closing it. "Look…" he starts, but soon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights as he just stares at me.

"You're making me uncomfortable," I tell him flatly.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

It's tense. Awkward. I hate it. I fucking hate that this is what my relationship with my best friend has been reduced to. It feels like we're nothing.

"Sorry," he says again.

"Why?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "Everything, I guess…"

"Explain," I demand.

"You don't deserve this," he says abruptly, "I've been thinking a lot about what happened this week."

"About what happened last weekend or about everything that's happened between us?" I ask bitterly.

Clyde looks uncomfortable, but I don't care.

"Both," he says finally. "Right after it happened, I wanted to talk to you, but when you didn't call me and I had more time to think about it, I thought we needed space."

"Um, yeah." I roll my eyes. Honestly, I want to bitch him out, but with the gauze in my mouth it's next to impossible.

"I felt really bad about what happened. I didn't mean to put you in that position."

"That was really fucked Clyde," I say sternly. "I mean, I thought I had really hurt you."

"Yeah—Token told me that you were really worried you had like… taken advantage of me. But I want you to know that's really…that's really not how I felt about it." He pauses. "I was forcing myself to be okay with something I actually was really freaked out about."

"Why didn't you just say no?" I ask. I don't want to be having this conversation. I still feel guilty.

He sighs audibly, glancing off to the side and away from me. "I WAS jealous of Kenny," he confesses, "and I knew it wasn't because I was attracted to you… It was just because I didn't want him to take my place as the person you confide in… and I guess I decided I'd at least TRY to be with you. I thought it'd be worth it, since I'm possessive over you. I just… You're my best friend and I got scared you were drifting away."

I feel a mix of conflicting emotions over his confession. "Oh," is all I muster up.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "I wanted to like you like that… but I didn't. Then I tried to force it… and I couldn't. Then it just kind of blew up and went to shit."

I put a palm against my forehead. "That's really shitty, Clyde…"

"I know," he whispers. "I was being selfish. I was acting out of fear, only thinking about myself. I put you on a string and kept dragging it along, not caring what I put you through… and now all this shit happened," he finishes, gesturing to my beat up face.

"This part isn't your fault," I say.

"Well, maybe not COMPLETELY," he mutters.

"Thanks for beating the shit out of Bill."

"Craig, of course. You don't think I would have let anyone get away with that, do you?" He puts a hand on my shoulder gingerly.

"I don't know." I shrug. "The way they were talking I thought maybe you had put them up to it."

"Are you kidding me?" Clyde sounds utterly disgusted. "What the fuck did they say?"

This is so fucking embarrassing.

"Some shit about stuff you and Bebe had done, kinky shit I guess, and how if I didn't like what they were doing then I must not have—" Ugh. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I really don't want to start crying again. I really don't want to talk about this. "I must not have done those things with you, because you aren't gay. But I didn't do any of that shit with you, because you really aren't fucking gay."

Clyde takes his hand off my shoulder and for a second I wonder if he's going to leave, but instead he kneels down in front of me and looks me in the eye.

"Craig, that was really fucked up of them."

"Man," I mumble, sniffling a bit. "I'm such a fucking crybaby."

He lets out a sympathetic chuckle and says, "Yeah, kinda…"

"You're supposed to deny it," I tell him.

He smiles faintly, shrugging. "I don't think it's a bad thing, dude. It kind of lets people know how you're feeling. It's better than keeping it locked up, right? You've got a lot of emotional shit going on… and I definitely wasn't helping. So, I'm really fucking sorry."

"It's humiliating," I insist.

"I don't think of it that way," he says. "I cry all the time, too."

"We're different," I argue weakly. "In more ways than one…"

He lets out a soft sigh. "Look, man, I love you… You're my best friend and I want it to stay that way."

"Mm…" I grunt.

Honestly, I'm still mad… mad at him and mad at myself because this has probably been the shittiest experience of my damn life. I wish I could erase it. I wish I never fell for him in the first place. I wish I chose Kenny. It shouldn't have been like this. I don't know why it had to unravel this way. It seems so fucking pointlessly unfair.

He wrinkles his nose at me. "Are you still pissed off?"

"I'll probably be pissed off for a while," I tell him honestly.

"Guess that's fair…" he mumbles.

"I wish everyone would just forget about all this shit and leave me alone…" I add.

"They will eventually," Clyde offers, not helping to ease the situation.

"Not until something juicier comes along," I mutter tartly, wondering who the next poor sucker is gonna be. I hope it's not me again, but looking at my luck lately… it could be. Ha.

"That's just how people are, I guess." He shrugs. "I know I reacted really badly when I was on that end of it. I was really freaked out. I've never been a target that way before."

"I know you haven't and I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess," I reply, standing up from the toilet and looking at myself in the mirror.

Ugh. I look horrible, and now on top of it I'm lightheaded. There's blood caked around my lips and down my chin onto my shirt. I'm just glad it's no longer pouring out my mouth and nose. It hurts to talk. Fucking braces. I have huge bruises forming around and underneath both of my eyes. Damn, maybe I do have a concussion.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?" Clyde asks suddenly.

"No," I say dryly, "I think I'm okay. Will you go get Token and that ice though?"

"Sure." He looks like he has something more to say, but stays quiet. I hope this isn't what our friendship has been reduced to.

"What?" I mutter uncomfortable.

He shakes his head, shrugging it off.

This sucks.

He leaves a split second later, wandering out without another word to me.

I eye myself in the mirror again. I wonder if it'll heal fast…? I hope so. Until then, this is a constant reminder of how much people at school fucking hate me.

A moment later, Clyde returns with Token. "Hey," Token greets holding a cryogenic pack wrapped in a thin hand cloth. "Sit and close your eyes."

I do so and a moment later I feel the ice pack against my blooming bruises.

"Better?"

"Mhm…" I murmur.

"So, did you guys have a talk?"

"Yeah…" I say.

"And…?"

"It's fine," I inform Token tartly.

I hear him scoff. Clearly he still thinks we have some shit to sort out. I think he's definitely right. It'll probably take work to get to where we used to be… but today we took a step in the right direction.

.

.

I'm dreading school when Monday rolls around. I hid away in my room this whole weekend. Dealing with my family having to see me so roughed up was enough.

My mom tried to call the police. I told her I didn't want her to and that things were being taken care of, whatever that means. Instead, she says she'll start giving me rides again. I guess she doesn't want me waiting as a bus stop alone with people who would do this sort of thing.

I ask to miss my first class, because Bill is in it, and she tells me she'll call the school and tell them I have a doctor's appointment.

When she finally does drop me off, we're still in the middle of first period. No one is in the halls thank god.

I head to my locker to get my books. The whiteboard is still attached, and there are a couple lines about classes and homework, but in the bottom corner I'm surprised to see a note in the bottom left corner.

" _Come find me in the art room - Kenny."_

I frown at that.

Kenny…

I wonder what he wants.

I hope he doesn't just want to throw everything in my face and laugh at how shitty my life turned as soon as I chose Clyde over him… Well, I don't THINK he'd do that… but I also don't know him that well.

I hold the night, staring down at it and contemplating whether I should go or if I should pretend I didn't get it… Nonetheless, I head over.

When I'm in front of the door, I hesitantly open it and peer inside.

"Hey," I say hoarsely when I spot Kenny. My voice cracks, which makes me feel even dumber.

"Hey," he echoes… then there is a brief silence as Kenny looks me over. "Heard about what happened…" he adds.

"Yeah," I murmur awkwardly, bringing up a hand to poke at my bruises.

"Stop shifting around," he says, noticing my discomfort. "I'm not here to be a dick to you. I'm not like that."

"Sorry." I shove my hands into my pockets. "I don't really… I don't really know what you're like. I mean I haven't talked to you really at all since Clyde and I started dating."

"I didn't think Clyde would like it. I knew he was jealous of me hanging around you."

"Why didn't you tell me that?" I ask sheepishly, "That was literally the only reason he even tried to date me. He thought I was replacing him—can you fucking believe that?"

"Who were you going to trust? Some new guy who wanted to date you or your best friend who you were in love with?" Kenny cracks a toothy grin. "And yeah, I can believe that. Have you met Clyde? He's obsessed with having you as a friend. Enough so that be actually thought forcing himself to be gay was better than losing you to some other guy."

"I guess we both see who I should have trusted now," I laugh sarcastically.

He softens, still smiling serenely. "It's all right, though. Sometimes people have to learn shit. It sucks and it's not fair… but it happens."

"Yeah," I murmur, unable to disagree, yet hating the current topic of conversation. Clyde is so fucking ridiculous sometimes. "So… what now?" I ask.

"What do you want?" he retorts, answering my question with one of your own. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty shitty," I admit with a shrug.

"I mean how do you feel about ME?" he specifies.

I smile, even though I feel like garbage. He wants me to say it. "I know," I tell him. "I was thinking about it the other day. I kept thinking that I wish I chose you, because you're nice and I know you wouldn't have fucked with me… and I did like you. I guess it's dumb to think like that, though, huh? I mean, I DO like you… it's just… I don't know. I feel all messed up…"

"I still like you, you know," Kenny says suddenly.

"What?" I stammer.

"I still like you, Craig," he repeats. "I still want to take you out. I understand if you need time and space but I wanted you to know that I'm not mad that you gave dating Clyde a try. I don't blame you. You two were so much closer than you and I. But I think you deserve to go out with someone who actually likes you in the way you like them."

I blink, "How are you not mad?"

"I just get it." Kenny shrugs. "I understand why you needed to go with him."

"Kenny—I would be so pissed if someone did that to me."

I can't tell if he's playing a game with me. It makes me nervous, but he seems genuine. I don't know what to think.

"Yeah, but I'm not you, and I'm not mad. I know that I still like you and I'm not going to try to fight that just in order to hold a grudge."

I feel stunned and surprised and it makes me realize how dramatically different I am from him. Just like how dramatically different I was from Clyde… but maybe, this time, it will work. Maybe, this time, it'll be better. Kenny is humble, good-natured, friendly, extroverted. That, I know… and I want to know more.

"You're really nice…" I say stupidly, unsure where to go from there.

He chuckles at that, lighting up. "So, whaddaya say? Craig, will you go out with me?"

And I say yes.


	10. Chapter 10: Epilogue

"What's on the plate for tonight?" Kenny asks me.

I glance at him and just smile, shrugging my shoulders. He knows I'm indecisive.

We're sitting on the sofa in my basement. There is some mindless comedy playing on the television, but we're not really paying much attention, to be honest.

"Hm…" Kenny muses, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me towards him. He kisses me on the cheek and then says, "Wanna stay in or go out?"

"In," I tell him.

"You never really feel like going out," he notes. "It doesn't bug me, it's just something I've noticed."

"I don't like crowds or loud places or anything like that," I admit. "I just enjoy myself more when I'm with one or two people… and it's been a pretty busy week. I want to spend some time with you."

"Aw," Kenny coos, grinning at me.

Exams are over now. I didn't study, but I did okay. It's summer now and my face is healed.

We'll be heading into grade twelve soon enough. After that, I don't know what I'll be doing. I'm not going to university, though. Fuck that. When I'm done with school, I'm not going back. High school has been hell so far… but I climbed my way out. I'm doing okay now. A lot has changed for the better.

People stopped bothering me. When Kenny and I started dating we did it the right way. Everyone already knew they couldn't bother him and it transferred onto me pretty quickly. We also didn't give them much material to run with. We started holding hands in the hallway and walking home together after school.

We mostly spend our afternoons at my house—Kenny hasn't invited my back to his place since that very first time. I don't know if he's insecure or if he just likes my parents more. They certainly like him. My dad is oblivious as always but my mom always sends him home with leftovers after dinner.

"Let's watch a movie," he suggests.

"Okay," I agree, and hunker down into his lap.

Since we've been dating, Kenny's started hanging out with my friends more—even Clyde. Sometimes they step on each other's toes, but usually they get along well. I think Kenny is the type of guy who can get along with pretty much anyone.

The worst is over. I can say that confidently and I've learned from the things that have happened to me.

All it took was time. Soon enough, things between me and Clyde returned to normal. I think we'll always remember that I once had his dick in my mouth… but we've moved past it. Thank God. So, I got my best friend back and I got a boyfriend – a really sincere, nice one.

Plus, he's good in bed. I learned that a mere month into the relationship. I didn't think sex could be that good… but damn, it was good.

Yeah, I was scared at first. There was this little voice in my head that told me it'd be bad just because my first experience was bad… but I dealt with my shit. We all did, for the most part… though I still deal with things like anxiety. That's an ongoing battle.

Kenny is popular—really popular. I get nervous that he'll leave me for a girl just because he could and it'd be easy. He's good at reassuring me though. He doesn't flirt with other people at parties and on the off chance that I do start to feel jealous, he never calls me high-maintenance.

I think Clyde can see how good we are for each other. We haven't talked a lot about it, but that's because we haven't needed to. Kenny is good enough at communicating that there hasn't been much need for venting.

All in all, I can tell that's he's actually, genuinely into me, which is something I've never had before. I like it. Everything I have with Kenny is what I was missing with Clyde and, yeah, I still love him… but not the way I used to.

Kenny puts Netflix on and we surf for a good movie to watch before settling on some lame action flick Kenny has been wanting to see. We have pretty different tastes in movies and most other things, but I don't mind.

We watch and he plays with my hair as I lie on his lap. Halfway through, we pause and make popcorn and grab sodas from upstairs. My parents are in the living room. Mom gives me a sly little smile when she sees us together. I roll my eyes, but I can't stop a smile from spreading across my lips.

I'm actually happy. It's a weird, unfamiliar feeling… and it's not all thanks to Kenny. I'm happy because I'm content with myself and where I am at this point in my life. I think that's what matters.

"No funny business," my dad jokes.

I drag Kenny back downstairs before he says anything that could get him into trouble.

He snickers at me, reading my mind. "Aw, I wasn't gonna say nothin'."

I just nudge him and we sit back down on the sofa, playing the movie. We sit close, munching on the popcorn. Kenny is pretty expressive when he watches movies. He gasps a lot and pretty much gives you a play by play of all his highly reactive thoughts.

But, again, I don't mind.

I glance to the side, watching him as he watches the television screen. After a few seconds, our blue eyes connect and he catches me staring. He gives me a lopsided grin and it gives me that fluttery feeling in my stomach.

He supports me – even when I'm acting like a crazy fuck – and I want to support him, too. I think we're good together and I want to show him how much he means to me.

"Hey," he starts suddenly. "I'm happy you picked me, too."

Half the time it's like he reads my damn mind.

I just smile. It's something I've been doing a lot lately. I cry less. It's like all the bad shit is in the past, where it belongs.

When the movie is over, we set the popcorn bowl and nearly-empty soda cans on the coffee table in the center of the room.

"Are you staying here tonight?" I ask.

"If you want me to," Kenny says.

"I want you to," I tell him. "I always want you to."

"Aw," he coos at me some more, reaching a hand forward and rubbing my cheek. "Then I'll stay!"

He always does.

It's quiet. It's comfortable. There are never any tense silences. We can laugh, cry, whatever else. He's so… real. He is so different than anyone I've experienced or gotten to know. It's refreshing. Even if we don't last forever, I hope we'll part as friends… because I do care about him, so much. Even though Clyde was my first of many things, Kenny is the one I did it all right with.

 **Fin.**


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